


The Ghost of Dirtmouth

by Quimser



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Everyone lives, F/F, Gen, M/M, Things are getting more dramatic than i thought, and is happy, now with more baby, only spellcheck you suffer with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 12:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quimser/pseuds/Quimser
Summary: The knight is a strange creature, not quite bug, but something far more special. They are a king, vessel, and the vanquisher of the vengeful old light.After the purpose of their creation was fulfilled, they possessed nearly free reign over the seemingly empty Kingdom. However, there's nothing more like home than the old, run-down town above the crossroads, even if it'll take some time to patch up and fill with residents.(Aka the knight tries to repopulate Dirtmouth with the remaining survivors after the dream no more ending)





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely sure where I'll go with this or even if I'll complete it, but the idea stuck onto me last night and I spent all my free time in school typing this out and getting a loose layout for this fic.

 

Hornet woke with a dead ache on the front of her face, a gift she received from the brief but tense scuffle with the Hollow Knight. With a twitch, she rose from the ground and peered at the lumafly lights.

 

Once obscured, the receding dark left them shining as if they were merely installed yesterday. She didn't realize what a difference it would make when gone.

 

But she was getting ahead of herself. Turning smoothly, the cracked mask of the little ghost creeped into view. It was almost underwhelming to see what remained of the knight; the plain, unchanging expression was split down the center and what seemed to constitute its body appeared to have become the pool of void currently resting in the cracks of the floor. Even then she felt oddly compelled to stare on.

 

When she finally tore her gaze from the ghost, she stepped lightly toward the exit. And paused. She threw another glance to the remains.

 

Something felt strange, as if she were missing something she should have noticed.

 

…

 

The pieces of the mask were shaking slightly.

 

Eyes widening, Hornet leapt in front of the knight and continued to observe in slight awe. How resilient the little ghost was! Were they still trying to pull themself together even after that clash?

 

The opaque, liquid-like blackness was climbing the inside of the mask pieces, using gossamer-thin strands to connect the two halves. slowly but surely, the void dragged the mask together. The large crack scarred over and left the king’s brand on the back of their head with a heavy line through it. A stray thought told her it was rather poetic, in a way.

 

After a while the body didn't seem to want to regenerate and she picked it up with a ginger touch. She grabbed the discarded mothwing cloak (taken from the vessel she’d slain in Greenpath) and decided to head upward. Her sibling would need peace and quiet if there were any chance they’d come back and the town above would grant them that.

 

Dashing through the too long path out, the enigmatic sigils of light that shined and vanished from view buzzed around her and beneath her feet. Beyond that, the crossroads provided an easy path to tread. The infection infested husks had dropped to the ground, wholly and truly dead. The ghost had accomplished their task after all, she thought as the still air parted for her to pass.

 

Soon enough, she flew out of the well and spotted a few figures in the decrepit town. They were likely harmless and she simply walked past them to the nearest bench. If need be, she was strong enough to fend them off.

 

An old, hunched bug turned to face her, but noticing who she held, he seemed to slump a little more. “Ho there, pardon the short greeting, but why might you be carrying our little traveler there? They do not appear to be in the best of health, though admittedly I am not too surprised.”

 

Hornet placed the knight’s mask down on the bench. “You would do well to show more respect to the little ghost.”

 

Blinking, Elderbug said, “You seem to care a deal about this fellow. Sadly a rarity nowadays. Now what occurred for them to be in such a state? Would you care to enlighten me, young lass?”

 

“I'm sure I am older than you, sir,” she replied. As Elderbug reeled from the revelation, she continued. “This vessel has rid us of the infection, although I am not clear on the details.”

 

“Eh? Ah?” he stumbled, “They _what_? The curse? The underground’s rank odor… it had disappeared only a little ago, was that truly the cause?”

 

Hornet nodded.

 

Elderbug stood in stunned disbelief, then flumped on the bench next to the knight’s head. After a moment, he gave a low murmur. “Oh dear, it looks as if I had underestimated you greatly, then. How did they do it?”

 

“I assume that strange weapon they possessed helped deal the final blow. It appeared to be moth-made.”

 

“Moth-made? So moths weren't just an old legend after all. I apologize for asking so many questions, usually it's I who dispenses advice.” He rubbed his chin and looked at the knight. “What a mysterious child. Rest easy, little one.”

 

As if in response, the hole on bottom of the mask immediately started to leak void. Elderbug rose, startled. Hornet remained silent.

 

The liquid seemed to have a life of its own, and unlike water droplets, the substance never broke away to drip on the ground, instead staying coalesced as the main body. Within a minute, the body took its familiar solidity and shape.

 

They sat up on the bench. Honestly, Hornet would have killed to know what they felt, but the expressionless mask refused to budge and she refused to show emotion.

 

Elderbug was more vocal. In disbelief, he picked the knight up by the armpits. “A-are you in there, little one?”

 

A nod. Then, unexpectedly, the knight began to squirm like an unruly child. There was no chance that he could hold onto them for long, so the knight hopped onto the ground unhindered. Neither he nor she anticipated the knight running off so suddenly and they vanished into the well before either could decide to stop them.

 

“Wait! Ghost!” she called as she took pursuit. Elderbug watched on, unable to do anything even if he wanted to.

 

* * *

 

Hornet huffed a little as she chased the knight all around the crossroads. How in Hollownest did that thing have so much energy, especially after jabbing at the line between life and death? Normally she would have caught them ages ago, but the exertion the inside of the Black Egg Temple placed on her was taking hold.

 

Taking up the chase again, she nearly collided with them when they paused out of the blue. They didn't budge when she ran into them, merely staring on with unreadable eyes. Now that the chance presented itself, she took a breath and began to speak.

 

“Ghost.”

 

The knight turned to her, and it almost seemed as if they were happy. An unfamiliar feeling of satisfaction hit. All traces of the infection was gone. It took a second for her to realize those feelings weren't hers, and considering the circumstances, the most reasonable cause would be-

 

“Ghost, could you doing that?”

 

They nodded. This could lead to a whole host of implications.

 

“Can you tell what I'm feeling?”

 

A head shake answered her. They didn’t seem like the lying sort. Regardless, she was willing to bet that the little ghost was in dire need of some rest as they finally doubled over and curled up on the ground, almost as if they decided to take a nap then and there.

 

She lifted her sibling off the ground. How enigmatic, she thought. What sort of creature only shows its exhaustion after on its last legs?

 

Meanwhile, the knight’s thoughts and feelings focused more coherently her head. _Tired,_ they seemed to think. _Take me back._

 

Hornet dipped her head in acknowledgement and threaded her needle. Swinging back on a predictable path would be faster and more energy efficient.


	2. Myla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initially a diligent but cheerful bug, Myla fell victim to the whims of the Radiance. With the infection washed out of her system, she returns to her old self with a few changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I didn't write in either Elderbug or Hornet putting the cloak back on the knight, which implies that they were running all over the underground like a naked gremlin child. I also used some potentially out of date lore, but who cares
> 
> Side note: thank you for the comments! I don't respond unless a question is asked or it brings up a particular topic I want to talk about, but please know I read and appreciate them.

_ Two by two… Broken nail… lady… pale…? _

 

The words to Myla’s nursery songs were etched into her mind through weeks of singing as she worked, but for some reason she’d forgotten and had recently been struggling to bring it back. It seemed as if she passed out for quite a while and woke up with only a blurred recollection of lethargy and confusion, frustratingly.

 

Maybe it was the self-enforced lack of sleep? Oh well. She had bigger problems at the moment.

 

For within all her living memory, she had been raised in the walls and caverns of the Crystal Peaks, but now the solitude this rich area imposed on her was beginning to feel oppressive. The dull ache began soon after she awoke from her unplanned nap and only grew and grew the more she attempted to quash it.

 

Where was the delight in swinging her pickaxe? Picking the nicest crystals? Listening to the crystals sing? She didn't understand and it scared her a bit, but not for too long. 

 

She was going through her normal, repetitive routine when a tap on her shoulder startled her into vigilance. Whipping around, she spotted her friend (she hoped they were friends, at least) standing stock still in front of her and relaxed.

 

“Oh! H-hello there! I didn’t expect to see you. Strange to see me not s-s-singing? Silly old me forgot enough that I can’t sing at all right now, maybe I should make my own song?” the words poured out easily and was simply small talk, but the knight continued to stare straight into her eyes with a bemusing intensity. Was there something on her face? 

 

Without any warning, they threw their arms around her body with a near chokehold strength. Wow, way more power than she thought their tiny build could hold, but all she could concentrate on was the hug part of it all. Had it truly been so long since the last time she was shown genuine affection?

 

It seemed to help fill a gap in her heart she didn’t notice was empty till now. A bit of a cliche, but the comparison was probably the easiest way to express it. All she could do was wrap her stout arms around and return the gesture. Finally, the knight withdrew and left Myla with some slightly aching spots in exchange for a lightened feeling in her chest.

 

She spent a few seconds deliberating over her next words, but merely ended up stuttering out a simple “W-what was that for?”

 

“The ghost appears to have been under the impression that you were dead.”

 

Myla shot up in shock as the unfamiliar sound echoed in the narrow tunnel. Why was she so easily surprised today? Even with her eyes darting everywhere, she still was not privy to the location of the speaker.

 

“Who a-a-are, I mean, where are you?” she called to the disembodied voice.

 

A figure draped in red showed her two-pronged horns from behind a wooden shaft, stern face unrelenting even to Myla’s nervous demeanor. Even then, she thought that she seemed rather cool with that long, wickedly sharp needle glinting on her back.

 

Myla shook her head and looked between the two visitors. “Nobody visits me very often, so I never see m-more than one bug at once. Why did you all come here?”

 

“I am the protector of Hollownest, and they,” she gestured at the knight, “are a vital component of what’s left of it. I’d be quite the incompetent guard if I did not watch over them after a recent injury.”

 

“Injury?” Myla tilted her neck to get a closer look at the knight. “They don’t l-look like they’re hurt.”

 

The mystery bug closed her eyes for an short moment and turned to them. “It does appear to be so, but I am not sure. They have a habit of disguising whatever ails them until they cannot anymore, and as a result, I have designated myself for the task at hand.”

 

“That seems awfully nice of y-you, miss…?”

 

“Hornet”

 

Myla’s eyes widened as she asked, “Like one of those hive bugs?”

 

Hornet’s focus suddenly honed in on her. “Hive? Where did you come by that information? It is within my knowledge that much information on it was withheld from the kingdom by royal decree even before its fall.”

 

“Huh? I guess its because my gram used to tell me old stories and that was in one of them. Are you from there?” She answered and asked within the same breath, hand on her chin.

 

“Not quite. I do have links to it though, but I’m under no law to divulge my tale.”

 

“O-o-oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

 

“No, it is only natural that you’d question strange things, but it would do you well to be more cautious of what you’re wading into.”

 

At this point, the knight, who had been content watching the exchange, began to tug on Myla’s hand.

 

“Ah. Myla, the ghost wishes for you to return to Dirtmouth with us.”

 

“Eh? That would be n-nice, but the crystals-” she paused before finishing.

 

“What of them?”

 

What of them? She’d surrounded herself with them all this time, expecting to live and die and be buried among them all this time but maybe, just maybe it was finally time to take a breather and come back later? It’s not like it would run away like a skittering spider.

 

“Will you let me come back again if I d-d-don’t want to stay?” Myla asked.

 

The knight looked at her and after a while, nodded. Was it just her, but did they appear to be pouting somewhat?

 

“Okay! Let me just grab some stuff and we can go.”

 

Packing was easy. She only had a bag of her favorite crystals and her pickaxe. Her lumafly headlight didn’t count since she was already wearing it.

 

She strung the bag on her back and walked over to signal that she was ready. What she was not ready for, however, was suddenly being whisked into the air alongside her friend. The knight waved their hands in the breeze.

 

“I hope using me as a convenient mode of transport does not become a habit for either of you,” Hornet lectured sternly, but with no real bite. The knight ignored her shamelessly.


	3. Signpost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Elderbug's insistence, Hornet and the knight take their mock fight underground.

About a week from Myla’s relocation, Hornet found herself in a rather odd predicament.

 

_Fight me_

 

Tilting her head inquisitively, she stared at the little knight. If she had to guess whatever the ghost was thinking at the moment without knowing their true thoughts, she would’ve probably said they were merely trying to get her to accompany them somewhere or something else equally harmless sounding.

 

“What do you mean, ghost? Have we not fought several times prior?” she asked. It was unlikely that they meant harm, so she withheld any sort of alarm those words would have stirred up otherwise.

 

_No. practice._

 

So he meant sparring. It was still an unexpected request, but it made sense considering most viable foes succumbed to death without the infection animating them. She briskly flashed the sharp end of her needle at the knight’s face.

 

“So that, is it? Very well, you know I do not hold back.”

 

Despite the presence of void, a glint appeared to shine in the knight’s eyes. They walked out from town to the foot of a cliff opposite of the crystal peaks and she followed. The pure nail, honed exquisitely by an unknown nailsmith and wielded by a skilled nailmaster would be a welcome challenge.

 

The two stood silently, facing each other for half a second without even twitching. Normally, any battle would have begun by now. It seems as if she should make the first move.

 

The wind picked up, and Hornet lunged forward.

 

The first clash of metal on metal left a sharp ringing, but neither drew back. She took advantage of the situation by whipping out the glowing thread to unleash a flurry of blows, but only the first one managed to scratch the knight’s horns.

 

She didn’t notice a slight glow from them until they were close enough to slam a cyclone-like attack into the debris where she would have been had she not leapt up at the last second, and only then did she realize it would be perilous to fly too close over their head.

 

Thankfully, she speared the wall and reeled herself back. Heavy spell damage would be a pain to fight with this early in a duel.

 

“Wait! You two! What in the name of my dead mother are you _doing!?_ ”

 

Fight paused, both turned to the source of the panicked clamor. Poor Elderbug looked as if he were about to topple over from shock, but he stumbled through the remains of old huts on his beeline toward them. Hornet almost felt bad.

 

“W-what, I mean, why are you fighting? Were you not friends after all?”

 

As the voice for both of them, she looked at the elderly, huffing fellow demanding explanation and said, “The underground has become devoid of skilled enemies, and we found each other suitable to train with. We would grow rusty like abandoned nails otherwise.”

 

A modicum of calm seemed to touch him. “Is that so? Thank the lord, but please take it elsewhere. My hemolymph wouldn’t be able to take the stress of observing.”

 

“Hm. So we will.” She only needed to glance at the ghost and they took off alongside her, dashing out of sight into the crossroads. The only casualty of their descent was the bent sign at the bottom of the well, she noted as the small figure regained their bearings from the steep drop.

 

The battle commenced and continued on until the knight accidentally became ensnared in a subtly laid trap. They stepped into a loop on the ground and was dragged by foot into the air, and having dropped their nail in surprise, they had nothing to cut the offending thread.

 

Hornet suspected that most of their foes never thought to lay concealed traps. They would eventually catch on, but for now, she remained the victor.

 

Eager to struggle free, they wiggled like a tangled grub until they eventually conceded defeat, slowly revolving in place. Hornet almost laughed at the sight. Was this child truly the king of Hollownest?

 

She slashed the thread and the knight dropped. Unfortunately, their horns lodged themselves in a large crack in the ground and they flailed even more in an attempt to worm free. What rotten luck they must have had for this to happen.

 

With slight tug from her, they were finally released. They walked off as if nothing had happened and she followed.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she picked up some slight movement behind a large fossilized shell. She acted falsely as if she never noticed, and when they drew close enough, a silken thread shot out and snapped around the bug, wrapping him securely to the shell.

 

“State your name and purpose for observing us,” she demanded, aiming her needle at the bug’s head.

 

The poor fellow trembled fiercely as he clutched onto his bag, and she was forcibly reminded of a time in which she would have ruthlessly done away with sorts like him. It almost seemed as if he sensed her old coldness, or maybe he acted like this every time he was caught.

 

“S-so so sorry miss, I’m Bleu, the menderbug around these parts and I was j-j-just trying to fix that nice sign right there, I don’t mean harm, really! Could you please let me go?” stuttered Bleu.

 

“You’re a menderbug?” Hornet asked, eyes widening curiously. She immediately loosened the thread enough for him to struggle free. “I thought most of you would have abandoned your posts after the calamity.”

 

He drew himself up, offended. “I’m not a rude bug, but what you said flung an insult I cannot ignore! There isn’t a chance in this world that we would!” His previous nervousness had all but vanished.

 

Ah. She forgot how much menderbugs loved their jobs. “I apologize for my accusation. It’s just that I was not expecting to see one in my life.”

 

“I’ve no doubt that you mean that! We menderbugs are meant to be hidden from the public eye, as the late king ordered. Just because the kingdom is no longer doesn’t mean our task is too.” He puffed out his chest but after a few seconds, he deflated. “But it would be nice if bugs had a face to go with all those beautiful fixes we’ve made.”

 

_Tell him, Hornet. It’s ok._

 

She glanced at the knight temporarily, knowing full well what they meant.

 

“I am the daughter of the Pale King, and if that is how you truly feel, then I declare that all menderbugs shan’t be required to conceal themselves anymore.”

 

Bleu’s eyes popped out of his head. _“What!?”_ he exclaimed. “W- how, oh gods, you’re his child?”

 

“One of them, at least.”

 

At that, he slumped a little. “One of them? You might not have the authority to reverse it, then. This must have an equal position to his to repeal.”

 

Hornet picked up the knight and spun their back to the menderbug.

 

“What,” he asked, “are you- _is that the king’s brand!?”_

 

He toppled over. She nudged the body with her foot.

 

“Hm. I believe he is no longer conscious?”

 

The knight nodded. They shook him until his eyes snapped open and he got on his knees. “I apologize for treating you both so inappropriately! Please accept my gracious thanks for freeing us as well!”

 

Hornet picked up the menderbug’s bag and held it toward him. “There is no need for such useless niceties. They are an object of the past and are not applicable to this situation.”

 

Grabbing the offered bag, he said, “If that is the case, then let me make a request. It’s a while till the next menderbash, so it might take time for word to spread of your decree. I would give my humblest thanks if you came along to tell them what you told me.”

 

Making a noise of agreement, she held up a hand. “I myself, or rather my sibling, have a request as well. Would you like to come up and live in the town above?”

 

Seeing Bleu’s gaping expression, she added, “Of course, there is no pressure if you do not wish to, but consider-”

 

“Please don’t misunderstand, princess! I’d be delighted to!”

 

Hornet blinked at the formal address, but did not say a word. Regardless, he was very dedicated to his calling and that was something she could respect. Few could ever claim to love life like he seemed to, and would make a good addition to the growing population.

 

The little ghost seemed to share her insight and happily climbed up the well’s rope, doubtlessly to alert everyone of the new arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave the menderbug a (purposeful) name bc it seems more like a job title than a name. I kinda hate the fact that in order to access his house, you have to actually kill him. Feels like a jerk move. Also, my updates should slow at the end of this week since spring break will end then and testing starts.


	4. Nail Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The knight has no idea how to care for their nail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to spend the majority of my day to write even 1.5k words, so I should probably space out posts a little better but I crave validation.

Hornet dried the oil from her needle and wiped it with a clean cloth. It had been a while since she had last cared for her weapon, and she would rather it not be her who fails to maintain such a vital piece of her defense.

 

Directly across from her, the knight, who had stuck to her like a greedy hopper, watched on as she placed the cloth down. The two had taken up residence in a decently sized little home near Cornifer and Iselda. The only downside was that they could hear Zote chatter infernally to Bretta if the window was open, not that she ever would.

 

_What are you doing?_

 

She glanced at them. “Have you not ever cleaned your nail?”

 

They shook their head. Good god.

 

“Give it to me,” she ordered. The nail was traded to her hands in seconds and the very first thing she noticed was the unusual chill radiating from it. Most metals were naturally cool to the touch, but this one almost appeared to sap as much heat from the environment as it could. What sort of material could this be?

 

That wasn’t all. This particular nail might have been beautifully crafted to a degree she’d never seen, but that posed a problem. The unusual grooves carved into it might require specific care that she was not qualified to advise on.

 

“Ghost, who made this nail?”

 

They shrugged. She opened her mouth, closed it, then asked, “Was this nail, perhaps refined by someone you know?”

 

That must have been the right question, because they hopped up and pushed the door open. By the time she got up and looked out, they were walking toward the stag station. When she caught up, the bell had already been rung.

 

The thunder of legs pounding the beaten tracks echoed through the tunnel, and before she knew it, they were both riding on the last stag’s back.

 

“Where are you going, little ghost?”

 

_To Sheo’s._

 

She had no idea who that was. “Is that the nailsmith?”

 

A headshake. Maybe she should stop asking questions until they go there.

 

Soon, a sweet smell began to permeate the still air of the tunnel. Greenpath, she’d wager. They both bid the stag thanks when they arrived, and descended downward and entered a long room filled with thick thorn-peppered vines and a corrosive acid lake at the bottom.

 

She took out her thread and fixed it to her needle. If this area needed to be traversed, she’ll need to be prepared. Behind her, there was the light sound of flapping. She looked up and almost groaned.

 

There was secret path above them. She’d forgotten one of the biggest rules of wandering Hollownest: look for hidden paths.

 

The knight’s face poked out from the top and beckoned. From there, it was simply a quick dash to the other side and some slight maneuvering till a house popped into view. The door wasn’t even closed, signaling the confidence of either the owner’s ability to defend it or the difficulty of reaching it in the first place.

 

Two figures sat huddled over a low table, a painting of the longhorned beetle propped up on a makeshift canvas holder made of old nails. It seemed rather improper to use weapons like that, but in the end, did it really matter?

 

The one with a white, three-pronged hat turned to them with a relaxed smile. “Oh, what do we have here? Quite the crowd we’ve amassed in our off the path home. Little wander, you’ve grown enough for my master to acknowledge you?”

 

The knight proudly held up the charm fastened to the inside of their cloak and he said, “Nailmaster’s glory, that nearly makes me want to swing my nail once more, but alas, I have other, more important goals.”

 

He gently nudged the beetle beside him. “Isn’t that correct, Ashe?”

 

“Do I wish to request the implications, Sheo?” he replied, huffing.

 

A guttural laugh echoed throughout the room. The couple, she assumed, seemed to be artists of a variety of mediums, but she currently watched them carefully shape wedges of clay in their hands.

 

Those clay figures… were very familiar.

 

“Could that perhaps be Hegemol of the five great knights?”

 

Sheo blinked and turned to her. “I didn’t expect to meet such a knowledgeable fellow here. Upon where did you find that information?”

 

“I’ve known them since I was a hatchling. It wouldn’t do for one of my age not to.”

 

The ghost tugged on her cloak. _Should I too?_

 

Ashe chose that exact moment to snort “What does that make me, then?”

 

“You don’t count.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Not you, them.”

 

He tilted his head and followed her gaze. “Ah. I apologise. I was absorbed in crafting this Kingsmould and didn’t see you, traveller. I must thank you for your actions when we met last.”

 

“Last met?” Sheo inquired.

 

“They were the one who spared me.”

 

Sheo nodded knowingly and straighten up. “I extend my deepest thanks to you as well. If it had not been for your actions, we’d have never met.”

 

Stoic as the knight might have looked, Hornet knew they appreciated those words. Without warning, they jumped onto the other side of the table and scooped up a glob of clay. The couple returned to sculpting, leaving her to stand awkwardly at the entrance. She never had to deal with this sort of situation before and knew little of how to handle it.

 

It did not go unnoticed, though. Sheo looked up from his work and said, “Do you wish to join? We shall not shun you for doing so, in fact quite the opposite.”

 

A lump of white clay was lifted into view. Ashe had held it out, looking on expectantly for a response.

 

“I’m afraid I am not the artistic sort, although I am skilled in weaving soul threads.”

 

“Well, how much does that matter? You can always start anew, or nothing will ever change,” Ashe replied. “Who knows? You might find a new calling like Sheo and me.”

 

Hornet conceded. Taking the clay, she sat next to the knight, who had already slapped two circles together, the bigger one on the bottom. Just what should she make?

 

She sat there for a few moments, just watching everyone work. Slowly, her hands shaped several balls of varying sizes and flattened them into disc-like shapes. They were stacked on top of one another with a slight point on the bottom. One long strand was rolled thin and sliced into 8 pieces, and one end of each were pressed into the left and right of main body, 4 on each side.

 

A piece of clay was rolled into a thin, flat circle and she slashed at the perimeter to form a jagged edge, like tattered cloth, and placed it on top of the body. Two cone-shaped pieces were then melded to it and curved like pincers.

 

Hornet stared at her creation with mixed feelings. It wasn't complete yet, but she hesitated somewhat to do so. It was then that she received a tap on the shoulder. She looked down.

 

A cracked mask faced her, worn somewhat from all the scratches and scrapes that never fully healed. How ironic that her mother’s killer would be the one to comfort her.

 

She formed an oval with a small point, scooped out six eyeholes, then put it onto where the face should be.

 

Soon, the four watched on as the figurines baked in a makeshift oven (crafted by Ashe). They all turned out alright, even if some did droop a little. She looked at the one the ghost was waving around.

 

“What did you make?” she asked.

 

Sheo made a face and answered in place of them. “Ogrim. The exiled member of the six knights. He abandoned the Kingdom in the midst of the calamity.”

 

He blinked as the knight pulled his arm.

 

_He didn’t._

 

“Evidently, they don’t believe so,” she said.

 

_Knew our creation._

 

Hornet stood up a little straighter. “There seems to have been a circumstance you are not aware of that drove Ogrim to do as he did.”

 

“How odd,” Sheo replied. “It’s almost as if you have an idea of what that was.”

 

“I keep my secrets where I should.”

 

“Understandable, I suppose. It seems I need to withhold judgement of him for now.”

 

Hornet bowed. “It was a new experience for us to work on something new, and we have taken advantage of your hospitality for long enough. I thank you for letting us partake.”

 

“A non issue,” Sheo waved off. “Feel free to visit any time you please, and don’t forget to take your statues with you.”

 

“And if you so desire, then come to Dirtmouth once in a while. It’s on the surface above the crossroads and the location of our current dwelling.”

 

Sheo nodded. “It can get stifling to remain here for great periods. We’ll keep that in mind. Farewell, then.”

 

The duo walked out, and the knight tilted their head at her.

 

“What is it now?”

 

They pointed at their nail, then at the entrance of the house.

 

… She forgot to ask about the their nail.

 

Poking her head back in, she said, “Excuse me, which one of you forged the ghost’s nail?”

 

Ashe, eyes still on the clay figures, responded. “I was me.”

 

“May I request information on how to care for it?”

 

He chuckled. “The pale ore in it makes it require only the most basic of cleaning. Just make sure nothing gets caked on for too long and the nail should retain its fatal edge for an eternity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I slapped another name on a character? Nice.


	5. Reunite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Knight goes out intending on exploring, but ends up working their magic on a few bugs who really need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love this game but I wished bugs didn't exist in real life. There's a centipede crawling on my wall right now and I crushed an ant against my laptop screen a moment ago.

It had been a while since the knight had decided to take off on their own, and for good reason too. They had been feeling oddly unstable despite being in control of the void, not that anyone knew. Nobody had asked upfront, and they weren’t attempting to change that.

 

Currently, the void had solidified completely without much change from their previous self, aside from the fact that the voidheart charm seemed to have quite literally fused into their body, and the sense of sureness in their strength had returned. In response to that, they began to peek into nooks and crannies they might have passed on their first foray into the underground, something their sister probably would not have the patience to oversee.

 

The resting grounds, filled with graves and spirits, soon became a target due to its relatively easy to traverse grounds. It would wrong if the bugs of old had to hop and climb obstacles every time they wished to visit a departed one, after all.

 

A new discovery came quickly. After giving a somewhat one-sided greeting to Revek, the guardian of the resident spirits, and poking around the back, a hidden whispering root showed itself. Not terribly exciting, but who were they to turn down extra essence even if it possessed no use? Why else would they pick up little trinkets here and there if they didn’t like collecting things?

 

After descending to the floor, they stood still for a moment. One might have mistaken them for yet another statue of a dead citizen if they kept the position for long enough. However, a strange pull drew them to a what appeared to be a stone coffin.

 

The top was cracked. 

 

The obvious conclusion, of course, was to blast it open and see what was inside. Which they did.

 

If they had a nose, the catacombs likely would have held a wretched odor considering what was inside. Hefty, bandage-plastered corpses littered the path in the claustrophobic tunnels, and they could tell more were buried within its derelict walls, roofs, and floors. If the infection were still around, would there be murderous shambling mummies lying in wait?

 

Despite the knight’s slight discomfort, they continued forward. A fresh breeze made their cloak flutter at the tips. The exit was close.

 

The airflow was from a hole at the top of the tunnels, and they eagerly poked their head out and spotted large building. Was it a house? Time to take a look.

 

There was a tall, stooping figure that had probably seen better days. As they moved forward to get a closer look, the figure straightened with an alarming speed and a wail-like call.

 

“Ahhhh.... Me'hon. This world, this intolerably cruel, sinful world. Why does che' even wake?” 

 

The knight craned up to face her as she told the woes forced upon her and her lover. From what they could guess, she appeared to be a dead mantis in the Queen’s Garden. They could remember it well. A grave surrounded by unforgivingly sharp vines, requiring a short bout of good reaction time to reach.

 

“Le’mer, could che’ perhaps ask for a thing? The trek is long and wearisome, che’ knows well that a quest is a kindness rarely granted,” stated the Grey Mourner. “Mayhaps you take it upon yourself?”

 

A nod answered her and she gave a delighted cry.

 

“Mi’! One’s heart does flutter from such kindness, little creature-”

 

She paused abruptly as she felt a tug on the edge of her long cloak. It grew stronger and stronger until it tugged her from her sitting position. “Wai-? Does that mean my request denied?”

 

The knight quickly shook their head, but kept pulling. The unsubstantial mourner calmed but tilted their head quizzically until they breached the door’s threshold.

 

Resistance strengthening, the mourner became more frantic. “Le’mer! I cannot go! Beasts roam the felled kingdom and to die before a sacred gift delivered-”

 

She quieted and shivered. They dropped her cloak and thought. Dropping on their knees, they used the layer of dust on the floor as their canvas. A generic bug with slanted, angry eyes was drawn, and then a hand deliberately cut through it with a diagonal slash.

 

“Neme…? Dost the child claim to protect me? Che’ has wasted away and weakened greatly.”

 

The knight paused and weighed the choices. Try to make her understand without words, or simply run with her assumption which would eventually be overturned anyway? They resumed pulling the mourner’s cloak, and she appeared to take it as a yes.

 

Equal parts overjoyed and fearful, she sang, “So the deal struck? It’d be wise to ward oneself and I with caution, but let us go, Me’hon!”

 

They checked the map for a short path, and stashed it away. There was no need to be paranoid at the moment, so they proceeded swiftly. Fortunately, the mourner appeared to have maintained their light, quick steps and did not tire easily.

 

It was not long until they set foot upon the bank of the blue lake. A very familiar pill bug sat on the ground directly in their path.

 

* * *

 

The vast, clear lake was just as beautiful as he expected it to be. Instead of questioning where all that water came from like what he assumed his past self would do, he simply took in the sights. 

 

Ever since Quirrel laid eyes on the city, he’d always felt a desire to see where all that rain came from, and now that he satisfied that wish and fulfilled his teacher’s goal, what was left? There was no bustling archive to return to and none of his old friends remained. He could always leave the kingdom, but what would that bring? Repeating the same cycle of rinsing and refilling his mind seemed to feel rather empty with no goal at the end.

 

The glow of the water was burned into his eyes. His head felt bare. He’d always gleaned comfort from the mask atop his head, but it had been sacrificed to end the world’s stasis. Besides, it wasn’t even his in the first place.

 

He got up, and walked to the edge of the water. A plain mask, distorted by the natural movement of the water, stared back. He looked back up.

 

All his goals had been accomplished, and though he’d said it before, this place had a sort of enticing calm beauty not found throughout the rest of Hollownest or what he’d remembered of the beyond. How difficult could it be to-

 

Something just latched onto his hand. He started and immediately turned to look at the perpetrator.

 

It was the little traveller. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. Even after the ordeal with the cause of their creation they emerged, not unscathed, but stronger than ever before. Maybe more intuitive, even, he thought as the deep blackness of the vessel’s eyes bore suspiciously into his own.

 

He did receive a shock, however, when a towering creature suddenly bowled into him and sent all of them crashing into the lake below.

 

“Le’mer!” she burbled, head poking out of the water. “Why didst you take off with such swiftness?”

 

Knowing full well what the traveller’s response would be, he answered by proxy, albeit somewhat falsely. “Ah, might I suggest they were excited to see me?”

 

They all climbed ashore, and Quirrel was a mix of annoyed and amused that the knight was still glued to his arm. It looks as though whatever journey they’d undertaken, he must come along as well. When he asked the tall, grey lady if it would be permissible, she nodded enthusiastically.

 

“Another nail-wielder? Such luck to encounter yet more safeguards, nemenoo...”

 

So on their way they all went. He felt a painful pang of longing as he passed the Fog Canyon, but did not let it show. Still, it almost felt as if they clutched his hand just the slightest bit tighter until the Queen’s Gardens came into view.

 

A hop, skip, and a jump away lay the entrance to a path littered with mercilessly sharp thorns. He still had no idea what they were trying to do and who this lady was, but who was he to inquire?

 

They all braved the daggers embedded in the vines (except the knight, who clung to his back like a strapless backpack) and found themselves in a vast room. In its center rested a pointed stone epitaph bearing the words “Here lies the traitor’s child.” Was this the destination?

 

The grey mourner took slow steps, an almost reverent tone lacing her voice. “Could… che’ truly be here? My love? In such dispassionate reality?”

 

It was only now that she pulled out a single flower. It looked fragile, beautifully so. There must have been much care poured into such a delicate thing.

 

A ghost materialized, her void-stained eyes widening. “My Darling! Ze’mer!”

 

Ze’mer replied in kind, throwing herself forward. “Flena! My love!” Her antennae began to stand up.

 

If both were solid they would have embraced, but settled for drinking in each other’s appearances. The couple wasted little time in trading heartfelt words, and poured their souls out with abandon in a way only the tragically bereaved could.

 

A sort of warmth filled Quirrel as he watched. It almost felt as if he were intruding on the scene, and tried to turn away before he remembered what was attached to him.

 

“-but Ze’mer, you can’t stay with me forever! I can’t leave here so you’d starve and die!”

 

“And be with Me’hon til then? ‘Tis enough.”

 

Oh dear. An argument now could be disastrous. Maybe it was time to step in?

 

The knight got there ahead of him. There seemed to be little particles of void swirling around what appeared to be a glowing sort of nail (moth-made, his mind supplied), congealing on it and blocking out portions of its light as they dashed forward. They made a slashing motion right below, and Quirrel, expecting a blinding flash, reopened his eyes when there was none.

 

“Ai? What result did the charge bring?” Ze’mer questioned curiously.

 

Flena blinked and tilted her head. “I.. I’m not sure? Something feels different, though.”

 

The mantis hovered for a few moments until a jolt seemed to jump up her. “Could it be...?”

 

Quirrel watched as she tentatively flew a foot away from her initial position, then two, three, then more until she was joyfully zooming around like a mad gnat. Then, he looked down at his little miracle-worker of a friend.

 

They almost seemed to be smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long live lesbians. Quirrel's here too.
> 
>  
> 
> Where the fuck did that centipede go


	6. Reunite Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The knight drops by the waterways with Quirrel to visit a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, spring break ended and testing is happening soon, so the updates are going to slow down.  
> On a brighter note this fic hit 100+ kudos and also i started a steel soul run and am already afraid.

Dirtmouth, the last he saw, had been a dreary, empty place with only a single old bug as an inhabitant. Funny how things could change so quickly.

 

Quirrel watched as a few bugs scurried back and forth. It seemed as though word of this small refuge had begun to spread to a few odd survivors through the more traveled members- the menderbug (since when have they walked in the open so brazenly?), a little miner who sometimes followed the princess around, and of course, his little friend and the princess. 

 

Once, he could’ve sworn he even saw that old reclusive nailsmith disappear into the well alongside a large, paint-splattered figure. Of all the bugs he least expected, the nailsmith was not quite at the top, but nowhere near the bottom either. Maybe it shouldn’t have been more surprising as the knight seemed to have made a habit of pulling off the improbable.

 

Speaking of them, they were still clinging to his hand like sticky resin. That might not have been an apt comparison as the substance usually left behind residue, but general meaning stuck.

 

Every time he asked them to let go, he was greeted with a suspicious stare and eventually a curious side-eye from Hornet. He stopped when he realized his friend would in due time when they judged it best. It was surprisingly nice to be cared for, though.

 

Even though they had no expressions, it was clear that they had vividly strong feelings. Case in point, they had also been pacing back and forth ever since returning with Ze’mer and Flena, as if itching to take off.

 

“Traveller, or actually, what could your name be? Do you possess one at all?”

 

No response.

 

Scratching his chin, he asked, “Would you mind if I called you Mikkel? It’s really not a name, but simply something to call you. I can hardly keep referring to you as ‘traveller’ or ‘friend’ for the rest of our days together, no?”

 

The knight tilted their head in a questioning sort of manner.

 

“Ah, why that particular name? It’s a small reference to a world outside this one. I can’t remember what exactly it means, but it seemed fitting.”

 

A small nod gave the seal of approval. Now to the inquiry he had begun before he got distracted.

 

“Mikkel, whatever it is you want for, don’t let me stop you. There’s someplace for you to be at present and I can follow, or perhaps even carry you to.” He lightly shook the hand the knight was attached to.

 

It appeared that they understood and let go, instead hopping onto their head and pointing at the stag station entrance. He obliged.

 

The old stag there welcomed them and the knight jabbed at King’s Station on the map. When they arrived, the knight directed them to what appeared to be the sewers. What could possibly lie down in the waterways that drew their attention so?

 

Damp air permeated the tunnels and Quirrel found it easier to breathe. That wasn’t much of a surprise, as roly polies were merely land-dwelling crustaceans. However, it didn’t remain that way for long.

 

A powerful stench almost seemed to punch his face. Vivid remembrance suddenly struck. Could it be-

 

“Ahh, such a pleasure to see you once more, mighty knight!”

 

Loyal Ogrim. If smell were inextricable with memory, he would never be forgotten in a thousand years. His booming voice had calmed, thankfully. He didn’t seem like the bad sort, in fact quite the opposite, but good lord.

 

The knight climbed down Quirrel’s back and dragged him further forward. As best as he could with one hand, he slid the cloth on his head onto his face. The knight didn’t even respond to the stench almost as if they had no nose at all, which honestly wouldn’t be too surprising.

 

Time had not treated Ogrim’s armour well, and the pure white of his garb had dulled to a ruddy sort of color. Nevertheless, he seemed to be in high spirits as he welcomed the knight into his lair and spoke jovially. Quirrel remembered this enthusiastic aspect of his personality well and it was what helped the pill bug (and many others) tolerate his presence in the past.

 

The combatant shifted his view from the knight onto him. “Hello there! Didn’t expect to see another friendly face, but a friend of my friend must be a good fellow! How goes it?”

 

“Fairly well, I’d say,” said Quirrel in a muffled voice, cloth clustered on his face. “May I ask why one like you is nestled in the Waterways?” And where in Hollownest did you come upon all that dung? went unsaid.

 

“Like me? I’m merely an old ex-knight guarding a friend,” he dismissed.

 

“A friend? Who might that be?”

 

Ogrim appeared to drift off for a moment, then snap himself back into the moment. “Isma. Kindly Isma, they call her. Mighty strong too.”

 

How curious. “If she’s so powerful, then why does she need protecting?”

 

“Well, one day when we were patrolling the kingdom, she had to dash back to her grove for some reason, but she looked to have encased something with her vines and leaves. Seemed to be in a rush, which is unusual of her.”

 

Then, he sighed. “When I returned to ask what the fuss was, she had already receded into the wall and could only say to act as their guard.”

 

The two looked at him quizzically.

 

“Ah, you don’t know,” Ogrim exclaimed. “She could heal those even on the brink of death by lulling her body into a stasis to conserve energy, and focusing that on the victim. It was quite normal of her and earned her quite the reputation! Though this time it’s taking far longer than normal.”

 

This captured Quirrel’s attention. “Then why not pay a her a visit?”

 

“My oath prevents me from doing so. I cannot fight properly surrounded by acid in case something were to happen so I must stay.”

 

“Oh, is that all?” said Quirrel. “In that situation, we can fight well.”

 

Ogrim looked delighted. “I would love for that! In my youth I would’ve turned you down immediately, but in my older age I’ve begun to accept more. But could I truly impose on you such a task?”

 

“Of course. I assume you would willingly aid a fellow knight, Mikkel?”

 

The knight waved their hands eagerly, and Ogrim scooped both of them up in a crushing hug.

 

“I thank you greatly! Now let’s make haste!”

 

Quirrel could barely squeeze out “Not a problem,” before Ogrim shot off like a cannonball. It wasn’t long before the acidic air enveloped them, smelling almost sour.

 

“Now, I believe you already know, but don’t touch the acid,” said Ogrim as the knight hopped into the acid.

 

Quirrel patted him and said “They’ll be fine.” His friend either had a good sense of humor or a bad one, but now was not the time to figure it out. 

 

He squinted his eyes and looked around, spotting an abnormal-looking growth near the end of the grove. They all drew closer to it, following Ogrim as he hopped his way over the criss-crossing vines on the ground. Upon closer examination, there appeared to be a six-eyed face and the leaves lower down flared out almost like the skirt Isma wore.

 

“Oh! She’s almost done!”

 

The two turned their heads to him. “How do you know?” asked Quirrel.

 

Ogrim puffed out his chest and said, “I’ve bore witness to it many times, and I know the signs. See the leaves on her? They’ve begun to curl up again and the green she loses initially has returned.”

 

The knight looked at him as they listened, then swatted at a leaf tip. The springy foliage quickly returned to its original position.

 

“It should only take a little while more. Why not sit and chat awhile?” said Ogrim.

 

Quirrel nodded good naturedly. His noxious odor appeared to have been mostly due to the room they left behind, and he could now enjoy the company. 

 

A tug pulled at his arm and he turned to see that the knight had let go of him for the first time since they latched on. His eyes widened marginally. 

 

“What is it, my friend?”

 

The knight began to motion. Two hands held together up high, and came apart as they lowered them. The shape drawn was roughly triangular and he had a very good guess as to what they were saying.

 

“Ah, Ogrim,” started Quirrel. He felt his gaze move onto him. “You remember Ze’mer, correct?”

 

Ogrim perked up hopefully at his mention. “What of her? Do you have news on her?”

 

“Yes, I do. She and her lover are currently residing at Dirtmouth, a small town on the surface atop the crossroads.”

 

A barely restrained grin graced Ogrim’s face. “Shall we head there once Isma wakes?”

 

“I see no reason not-”

 

The sound of vines grating unevenly against one another suddenly consumed everyone’s focus. Their heads whipped around to see a familiar figure drop from the wall and slump on the floor.

 

“Isma!” cried Ogrim. He rushed forward and helped sit her up. 

 

She waved a hand languidly to show she was alright, and pointed behind.

 

“I’m always tired after healing... could one of you fetch him?”

 

Behind Isma’s imprint in the wall, a small, white figure was cradled in a swath of leaf and vine.

 

Quirrel tilted his head. “Miss Isma,” he began with a curious tone. “Could that, perchance, be a maggot?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess who the mystery maggot is? It shouldn't be too difficult probably. At this point I'm just whipping out bs and will be for the rest of this fic. enjoy


	7. Reunite Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit 10k words! That's actually the most i've written for a story before. 
> 
> I always have something to add into the notes, but I always forget. That's what happens when you never bother to write them down somewhere.
> 
> *I remembered. It would be nice if you visit me on instagram- my user is qu1mser (my tumblr is quimser, but it can go untouched for months sometimes

A pale, bulbous head bobbed sleepily as Isma rocked the maggot gently, attempting to wake him. His body looked unusually soft for a bug and as it would be very rude indeed to poke at the thin, hardly opaque skin, Quirrel restrained himself from doing so.

 

“Hegemol, are you there?” she asked in an anxious tone. “Hegemol, if you can, please respond.”

 

Ogrim tilted his head confusedly. “Why are you so concerned for him? He has been under your care many times before.”

 

“Simple. None of the bugs I’ve attempted to heal that were tainted with the affliction ever did,” she explained.

 

Quirrel watched as her claim sent a wave of shock washing over her fellow knight. “ _ The affliction?”  _ he gasped dramatically. Only those who possess enough weakness or let it into their-”

 

“Hush! He’s stirring, we can ask later,” Isma chided.

 

Slow squirming. A quiet groan trickled from Hegemol’s mouth as he struggled to lift his disproportionately large head. When the bug spoke, it was surprising to note the deepness of his voice.

 

“... Isma? I knew it.”

 

A slow sigh of relief escaped from his two friends. 

 

“Oh, thank Hallownest you’re alive,” said Isma, pulling him into a hug.

 

A small, sad smile crossed Hegemol’s face. “I apologise for being such a burden on you. I know the cause of it all and I am at fault.”

 

“Away with that thought!” rumbled Ogrim. “Isma  _ chose _ to aid you in your time of need, not you! Though I am uncertain as to why it took so long for you to heal.”

 

“I was touched by the affliction, or more rather, I accepted it into myself in a moment of weakness.”

 

How odd, would bugs ordinarily retain the knowledge that they were infected, or is he an outlier? Quirrel saw a slight tremble in the maggot’s body and lifted a hand. “I know I’m more of an acquaintance more than anything, but if you feel uncomfortable with sharing, there is no need to do so.”

 

Hegemol looked up, mildly stunned. “You are kind even to a lowly maggot? But I must disregard your advice and continue, as I should at least inform my friends of what happened as they likely suffered from the consequences.”

 

For a second, it appeared that Ogrim had something to say, but the press of of a vine against his mouth silenced him.

 

“I… was resting as I awaited your visit in the crossroads and carelessly went under. I remember the clanging of my armor, familiar from when I was still inexperienced, and knew that some other had stolen it.”

 

His shaking had grown with a vengeance. “I’m sorry, so sorry- I failed my oath and all of your trust.”

 

Both Isma and Ogrim had reached over to place a calming grip on their friend.

 

“And then everything hurt and I couldn’t move and something just told me to-”

 

“That’s enough,” they said in unison.

 

“You never failed us, you just made a mistake like so many others,” said Isma emphatically.

 

Ogrim nodded with a similar spirit. “You had a will to survive, and that is good enough and all we need.”

 

Quirrel blinked, but said nothing. He felt a small pat on their back as high as the knight could feasibly reach, and rubbed their head in return. 

 

The two knights consoled their fellow friend for a while, trying to encourage him and assure that they didn’t mind, which they probably didn’t, considering what he’d seen of their personalities, and slowly, Hegemol regained his bearings.

 

“I’d hate to ask, but may we go to retrieve my armor?” he requested, rubbing his first two pairs of legs (hands?) together. “I would be of greater help if we do so.”

 

A throaty laugh echoed above the hissing of the acid. “Would you expect me to turn you down?” Ogrim replied as he scooped Hegemol up and took off. Isma tailed along, the vine attached to her head bouncing as she ran.

 

Ah, so it was time to leave? His legs were itching to run anyway. 

 

The ragtag group quickly made their way up through the waterworks and through the City of Tears, where they took the lift up. The run seemed to refresh Isma and Ogrim; old, sluggish movements were replaced with the sharper, practiced steps of the royal knights, and soon enough, they reached the crossroads and the location of the armor.

 

“This was where I saw it last,” she remarked. “And thankfully, it appears that the thief never strayed far.”

 

Quirrel nodded. “It would’ve been a slight hitch if he were to have left entirely, but it must’ve too irritating to move away in unfamiliar garb.”

 

The maggot dropped onto the floor and walked over to it, then popped in, softly grabbing the helmet which lay just in his grasp and fitting it over his head with ease.

 

It was a curiosity on how well he was able to control the thing, though. Considering how massive it was compared to his body size there must’ve been some extra part of the design beneath the seemingly simple armor. Quirrel may have passed it in his original exploration on the way down, but did not pay it any heed as it initially appeared to be ordinary. Large, yes, but not particularly interesting.

 

The feeling of cogs turning in his head surprised him. It had dusted off an old, incontrovertible urge to understand so vital to himself so long ago that he thought he lost. He may have admired the sights, but never truly thought much about the “how.”

 

Quirrel shoved down the urge to inquire about it. Save it for later, he told himself.

 

Somewhat scratched but still in good shape, the armor didn’t even creak as he tested the joints’ mobility and stretched. As expected from Pale King-approved works, he thought as Hegemol strode with regained confidence.

 

....Wait, something felt off. He gave the room a once-over and a certain absence struck immediately.

 

“Where did Mikkel go?”

 

The confused stares were a swift reminder that only he and the knight knew the name.

 

“That little fellow travelling with us.”

 

“Oh, the warrior?” said Ogrim. “They ran off over there, but I’m sure they can handle themself.”

 

Quirrel conceded. “Decently sound logic, but we should probably find them regardless.”

 

Ogrim shrugged and led the way. Before they could even leave the room, however, a recognizable sort of blubbering echoed in the tunnel ahead. The words became clearer and clearer as the figures tottered closer, but Quirrel could hear the panic in their tone before that

 

“-beg you, please don’t hurt us!”

 

He noticed Hegemol stiffen, at least as much he could wearing that. The action did not go unnoticed by his cohorts and their expressions sharpened suspiciously.

 

Two white figures were being unwillingly shepherded forwards by the knight. More maggots. Who could they be to garner such a reaction?

 

“Those two, they’re the thief’s siblings.”

 

That would do it.

 

“We don’t want to hurt you, please don’t kill us!”

 

Hegemol twitched.

 

“We swear, we’ll do anything you ask!”

 

“We’ll be good!

 

“We might have some stuff you’d want-”

 

“Stop.”

 

Quirrel’s eyes snapped onto Hegemol, and it was clear he wasn’t the only one to do so. He must have snapped if he gave such an irrefutable order.

 

The two had gone silent, having snapped their mouths shut the moment the words filtered out of his helmet. They were now trembling in trepidation.

 

Hegemol paused, sighed, and kneeled to shorten himself as much as possible.

 

“I’m not resentful toward you, and you will not be harmed. The actions of your brother were not your own.”

 

An audible sigh rushed from the maggots as they sagged down with relief. How tense must they have been for such soft bodies to loosen even more?

 

Startled, unintelligible words fell from them as Hegemol lifted the two up in his hands. “What are your names? I never did ask.”

 

“I’m Niah.”

 

“I’m Durb, his sister.”

 

It was hardly a wonder why so many thought highly of the towering figure. Soft-spoken and gentle, he possessed appealing qualities in the mighty, but those same facets of him were looked down upon in a maggot in times past. How ironic.

 

At this point, Quirrel knew to look down before the knight could poke at him. “What do you want?” he asked in advance.

 

The knight did not appear to be too shocked at the preemptive response, and pointed at the group of maggots, now conversing tentatively, and jabbed upwards. Understood.

 

“May I request something?” asked Quirrel, catching the eyes of their current companions. “If you would like a place to rest, possibly stay at, Dirtmouth may be a good option. It is the place of our residence and would love newcomers.”

 

Ogrim and Isma exchanged glances and shrugged. Hegemol seemed to be of similar opinion, but turned to face the siblings.

 

“Durb, Niah, what of your opinion?”

 

They looked down. Finally, Durb raised her head and said “In truth, being here feels heavy. The presence of our… brother,” she paused, waiting for a reaction. When it was clear Hegemol hadn’t been angered, she continued. “Might weigh on our minds.”

 

Niah nodded. “Here, I can’t stop thinking. Maybe leaving would help us.”

 

With everyone in relative agreement, they all started up for town. The knight had hopped back on him, and in honesty, while they may not have been Monomon’s mask, the slight weight felt somewhat comforting.

 

“Hegemol, I’d hate to ask what could be a personal question, but why did you respond so favorably to your assailant’s kin?” asked Quirrel.

 

A huff. “Do you think so little of me? As I said before, a family member’s actions do not extend to their family. If you are judging me based on my visible instability from before, know it was merely a passing phase. It shall bother me no longer, and I will not be a hindrance.”

 

His response almost seemed flawless, suspiciously so even despite the personality shift displayed between his armored and unarmored self. There must still be deeper mental problems lying within. Those are never resolved that quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally added some not happy, but it won't be permanent. Anyways, has anyone noticed that the only highkey problematic fanart is always Hornet? Please tell me if i'm right and everyone else had been spared.


	8. I don't know what to title this, but do you even care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote 3 small essays today. What do I do when I get home? Write apparently.
> 
> I died on my first steel soul run. As it turns out, being able to easily beat nkg does not mean a brooding mawlek can't kill you. Have not gone back and will not till I get the pure nail.

One day.

 

Hornet had been gone for one day and three of the five great knights had moved in. She didn’t even know they were alive, but here they were, walking around some tiny little town on the outskirts of Hallownest and it likely would not be long until they realized they had truly settled down.

 

Earlier, she had spotted Ogrim attempting to move his dung piles in, but she halted that with such strict authority that he didn’t bother to talk back until an hour later, where he requested to dig himself a large cave right outside of town and put it there. Normally, she absolutely would have shot the idea down but she spotted Isma, Quirrel, and Myla encouraging for him in the background.

 

Ghost was there too, huddled at the front, but as they didn’t have a nose, consideration of their opinion became forfeit.

 

The other two great knights seemed to be far more manageable. Isma may have dripped acid occasionally, but could easily handle the situation. When prompted to take a house by Elderbug, she chose one near the stag station. Hornet blinked and it was suddenly covered in vines and foliage.

 

She turned to ruminate on the other newcomer, a quiet, hulking fellow that mostly only spoke when spoken to.

 

Hegemol had initially been somewhat of a difficulty. As he didn’t fit through the well’s opening and stubbornly refused to leave his armor behind, he had to come in via stag station. The old stag looked as if he would snap his legs clean off if he attempted to carry him, so Hegemol had to walk through the tunnel on his stout little legs.

 

Quirrel told her not to question it too much. There was a distinct irony in being told that by one of Monomon’s disciples.

 

And while he had refused a house since he claimed that “my armour is a good enough residence,” it didn’t take much pushing for him to accept. She wondered what Ze’mer would say. Likely something dramatic but gently chastising.

 

Ah, she forgot. It was a good thing the couple were out when the other knights were settling in or else it’d have been a larger fuss. She and they had bid farewell for a temporary journey; hers was mostly out of the wish to observe Greenpath and the Queen’s Gardens and they were paying a visit to the Resting Grounds, though she questioned why they had been gone for so long.

 

The sound of the Stag Station Elevator creaked. Speak of the Devil, there they were. And more. The pair emerged with armfuls of white flowers and old bags that seemed to be filled with odds and ends. More accurately, Flena watched her tug along the bags herself as she was not corporal.

 

The signature blade now rested on Ze’mer’s back. It gleamed valiantly bright and sharp despite its long cracks, signaling its esteemed craft.

 

“What was the cause of your delay?” questioned Hornet.

 

Flena dipped her head. “We changed our minds midway and visited my father. He now rests among his uncontaminated kin.”

 

Curious. She must’ve been quite persuasive to convince the prideful Mantis Tribe to take a traitor’s body and almost wanted to ask, but knew it would be prudent not to. “I see, and you have retrieved Ze’mer’s belongings?”

 

“Che’ now possesses all important things.”

 

“Do you call five empty picture frames and a glass lumafly jar important?”

 

“Ohh? Does Me’hon remember when she clung to a broken charm for many days?”

 

For a moment, Hornet believed the couple, now staring intently at each other, might start quarreling, but the two laughed in a undignified manner and easily shattered the silence. There was an ease and understanding in it that almost made her envious. Neither time nor distance could fade their commitment.

 

A loud, joyous bellow sounded from behind and she could feel the annoyance cross her face. In resignation, dodged the tumbling ball barreling straight for a certain someone.

 

“Ze’mer!” Ogrim cried. “It has been too long since I’ve seen you last!”

 

Manly tears poured out of his face as he squeezed the unfortunate knight in his embrace. Ze’mer patted his head gently.

 

“How fares Me’hon, fellow knight?” she commented serenely. “Despite how much che’ missed thee, please.. lessen…”

 

“Ogrim! Tame your grip, she’s suffocating!” shouted Isma, who was making a beeline for the crowd.

 

Hornet watched with mild amusement as the already pale knight paled further and slumped over. Fortunately, Flena retained a calm demeanor as she ordered him to let go.

 

By the time Ze’mer sat, propped up on a signpost, Hornet heard the telltale nose of clanking footsteps nearby. He stood awkwardly as they all awaited for her to notice him. Finally, she stirred and tilted her head.

 

“...Hegemol? Such a wonderful thing, this! Isma as well? Me’hon, how fare these past years?”

 

Isma relaxed when she returned to consciousness. “Oh, I’ve missed your odd speaking tics, dear Ze’mer! I’m grateful there was no need to heal you,” she said, shooting a look at Ogrim, who rubbed his head sheepishly. “And I see you have returned to your dear Flena? Where had you gone?”

 

“I was merely trapped in my grave,” she replied. Good answer that was.

 

“Grave? I was wondering why you were so see-through. How did your ghost break away?” she asked, ignoring the sputtering Ogrim beside her.

 

She squinted her eyes, appearing to laugh silently. “Why don’t you ask the little grub who freed me?”

 

Confused faces greeted her.

 

“Flena, dear,” Isma said. “The vessel cannot speak.”

 

“Truly? I can understand well and clear. How do you think I knew of my father’s death?”

 

Hornet started. That is true, how did she know that? But the news was unwelcomingly shocking. How in Hallownest did she manage to communicate without blood ties. She got up and called for the ghost.

 

Sure enough, within ten seconds she saw them walk out from behind a house. “Ghost, can you say something to her?” she asked, pointing. The others stared on curiously.

 

_Ok? Hello._

 

“They said hello. Can you not hear it?”

 

Ogrim shook his head. “No, but the strong need only understand through actions!”

 

Hornet ignored his pose, arms akimbo, and plowed on. “Do you understand why you can only speak to her? I’d be glad to know of it.”

 

_?... Feels like me._

 

“...Void?”

 

Wait a moment. Those thin, dark, tear-like streaks she assumed was simply unusual markings? She knew mantises sometimes painted patterns on their faces, and simply believed this to be another case. However, more than that, it was unnerving that-

 

“Why couldn’t I sense its presence?”

 

_Imprint. Ghosts are imprints._

 

Maybe the naturally-occuring essence in ghosts washed it off? Or it could simply be that the impact remained even when the spirit left the body. Regardless of her uncertainty, they seemed to unalarmed so she decided to leave the issue alone, despite how they could seem to sense it regardless.

 

Too much interaction was happening at the same time and Hornet was not one to hover around the bustle. She’d see the results later and right now, Flena had reminded her of something she’d been putting off.

 

Her shifting movement had alerted the ghost.

 

“Come along if you wish. I will not stop you.”

 

The ghost tugged a taller figure into view, and she sighed in resignation. “You too, Quirrel.”

 

He smiled good-naturedly. “I do apologise for the intrusion,” the bug said, tone completely unapologetic.

 

Like teacher, like disciple. She remembered a time when rumors claimed him to be far more respectful and longed for it. He would not cause any real harm if her judgement of him rang true.

 

They headed for the Stag Station as usual, and Hornet was glad for how her father built a stag station directly in the Distant Village. It would be an annoyance to travel through Deepnest as a crowd, even if there were no infection-tainted bodies tottering around.

 

When they all stepped arrived, Quirrel let out a low hum. “Even with my recollection, I never knew there was a stop here. I assume it was kept secret?”

 

“Indeed. The King had it built to strengthen the relationship between him and the last dreamer.” Hornet suppressed a slight shudder, but it seemed he noticed anyway. Whether or not he knew of the relationship between the two, he quickly clammed up.

 

Hornet returned to her thoughts. She should pay respects to her mother, as last time she did not have to time to do so. There was also this creature that she spotted a long period ago that attempted to mimic the appearance of her mother, but she had heard old stories and refrained from investigating. It was no less dangerous than the rest of this place.

 

The old webs spun decades past upheld weaver quality, still holding up the empty nests scattered throughout the unusually open cavern. A slight pang of lament for things lost, then she made her way to her mother’s empty grave.

 

The trio remained silent as she navigated the twisted confines of the nest, as if they sensed the heavier atmosphere. Beside occasionally peering behind her to check that the other two had not wandered, she barely acknowledged their existence.

 

Finally, an open room was reached. A single beam of light fell upon a bare bed surrounded by candles. She lay down a single delicate flower, lent by Ze’mer, on top and turned away.

 

“Done already?” asked Quirrel.

 

A solemn nod. “There is no need to do more. I have grieved enough and I will more, but shan’t let it hinder me.”

 

He reached up, seemingly to shift a hat, but grasped at thin air. “I understand.”

 

She had no doubt he did.

 

A small flash of dulled silver glinted as she took a charm, weaversong, from under her cloak. Sentimental value was enough for her. She was a little more fortunate, in a way. At least she retained a memento whereas Quirrel’s, no, Monomon’s mask faded away with the sacrifice.

 

The ghost appeared to be observing it with an unusual studiousness.

 

“Why do you show so much interest? I know you have one of your own,” commented Quirrel.

 

_Saw one. Weaver._

 

“ _Did_ you?” asked Hornet, quickly snapping her focus on them. “A live one?”

 

The knight nodded and ran off as they were wont to. She and Quirrel, of course, began their usual pursuit.

 

“Yet again? How many more times will this our friend do this?” inquired Quirrel. It was with not a tone of exhaustion, tired of the ghost’s tendency abruptly leave the trail, but one of mild admiration and appreciation. She would have to say the same.

 

Through the tangled maze-like paths of her ancestral lands they travelled, not quite running but not walking either. Soon, Hornet recognized the location. Right behind the body of a stalking devout it lay. Her birthplace.

 

 _Here, here,_ said the ghost pointing behind a well hidden wall.

 

She hadn’t been here ever since the kingdom’s fall. This was the place her mother cradled her when young and taught her of the soul-bearing abilities she possessed. How lucky she was, Hornet remembered her saying, that you were gifted with soul and the ability to craft with the same substance only higher beings could, and have their blood in your veins.

 

Biological origins should not mean much, but she was glad to have been born regardless.

 

Did she lose herself in recollection? Glancing around, the bodies of her caretakers were scattered about. A sad sight, but that was not what she was here for.

 

As of yet, the only movement she had spotted was from her own party. Only a sober stillness lay beyond them. By the time they had all scoured the place, every little nook, cranny, and corner etched into her memory from days past, nothing was gleaned of the possible life that may still exist here.

 

Actually, there was still one place not searched.

 

She shot a glowing thread up at the ceiling and darted upward. A small, unassuming patch of the wall became her target, and with a few sharp blows it caved in and a path opened to a secret room. She did it once more, but this time, only a small room was came into sight.

 

Light feet landed beside her. Quirrel, carrying the little ghost in his arms, blinked when he saw.

 

A weaver lay atop an off-white bundle of eggs. While that was a sufficient enough shock to fill the mind for days, another lingered right above it.

 

“My my, such a pleasant surprise!” cried a deep, womanly voice.

 

Hornet fixed her eyes on her. “The midwife, are you not? You have not succumbed?”

 

“Oh, you wound me, princess! I’d be a fool to.” she said with false drama. “Such a while you’ve been away and our spirits have fallen accordingly like any good servant.”

 

“Don’t act so cloyingly, Madam. I know your nature.”

 

The midwife’s mask tilted, contemplating the statement. “Fine. Then I shall not hold any words. Why are you accompanied by that pilfering thief?”

 

“They saved the kingdom. A single charm would not be a bad exchange for that.”

 

An unchanging, piercing stare answered her, and a period of quiet followed.

 

“You have grown soft. Still, as my position dictates, I will not go against your wishes. Take the unhatched young. Its dead mother will not care for it, after all.”

 

She withdrew and disappeared into the bountiful darkness and was gone, leaving the grayish tinge of the egg sac glowing faintly in the dim lighting.

 

A small prod. Hornet could feel the life pulsing within it and strung it to her back.

 

Quirrel watched on, smiling faintly. “It looks as if Ze’mer won’t be the only one taking something from home today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have something big planned later on, so look forward to that if my next presentation doesn't kill me.


	9. Flena's Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man it's been a while since I uploaded.

Flena never really had a quiet presence. That’s why many often said she was the fire to match Ze’mer’s calm whimsicalness, and also was mostly predictable for the same reason. However, even they would have difficulty predicting her next action.

 

Although the two were finally reunited despite the mounted odds and even grouped back up with some of her fellow knights of old, there was still a sort of emptiness hanging over them all. The initial high could only mask it for so long.

 

If they were able to find each other again, then maybe, just maybe Dryya could be out there after all. No doubt Ogrim believed, possibly in an attempt to ward off more pain, that she was still alive the whole time, but the rest seemed to have formed doubts during their time apart. None would mention why some of them separated either. Not even her beloved, who danced around the subject whenever she did ask.

 

It was… slightly frustrating, but if none were comfortable sharing, then it was their choice. She would not drag them around and test their tempers, even if she would have when she was younger and brasher.

 

She had been mumbling to herself right outside of town about it, and the knight soon sat beside her and began to listen to her rambling. Quite thoughtful. Or nosy.

 

In all honesty, she wasn’t sure what to make of them. That silent little fellow was odd in their own right, and appeared to lack a proper name. They couldn’t talk and never wrote it down if they were ever granted one, so everyone seemed to call him something generic or even make up nicknames. Even Hornet, who could directly communicate with the knight, still referred to them as “little ghost” or simply “ghost.”

 

The fact that they had an aptitude and a will to aid others was a comfort, though. Still, she had not a single clue why they were so drawn to these actions.

 

An passing whim to ask the knight about Dryya passed through her mind and the thought  immediately took root. Who knows? She reasoned. If anyone could help, it was most likely going to be them.

 

“Hey, knight,” she said. They tilted their head and stared back with unnervingly empty eyes.

 

Attention gained, she continued. “On all your travels, have you ever encountered a female bug plated in all white? She has a three-pronged head and wields a simple long nail.”

 

The knight paused for a few seconds, and drew their nail. She watched on as they used it to draw a bunch of linked lines on the ground, connecting them to a sort of oval with two large dots in the center. A blatant abuse of such a well-honed blade, but whatever.

 

“Just what in the name of Hallownest is that?” she asked. It clearly wasn’t Dryya by any stretch of the imagination.

 

The knight tilted their head once more, then tore some grass from the ground and pointed at the roots. Then pointed at the cluster of lines.

 

“So those are roots? Then is the circle-”

 

 _Wait._ Roots? Dryya?

 

“Could that be the White Lady?” she said in a rushed whisper. Flena was rewarded with a swift nod of confirmation.

 

Yes! “So you know where Dryya resides? Can you lead me to her?”

 

Another nod, and they took off with Flena hot on their heels. It was only in the middle of the ride to Queen’s Station that she realized that she neglected to inform the rest of her discovery.

 

Oh well, they would find out in due time.

 

The thorn-covered expanse of the Queen’s Garden was their stop. Of course Dryya was in the Queen’s Garden. She felt as if she could beat herself upside the head with a broomstick. Dryya was the Queen’s personal guard, after all.

 

It wasn’t long for their destination and with a few glances at their map, a horde of dead traitors, some she recognized, soon lay before her. Little pity she possessed for them too, having willfully accepted that terrible disease in promise for physical power.

 

The one that felled the pile of mantises lay mere feet away. Unfortunately, she looked as spritely as her dead foes did.

 

“Good lord,” she sighed heavily. “What should I tell Ze’mer? Hegemol?”

 

Rusting grass drew her gaze from the corpses. The glint of the knight’s nail flashed in the light as they disappeared into a hole in that, that patterned cocoon sort of thing. She followed.

 

* * *

The White Lady had not been expecting a visitor, not so soon.

 

She gingerly stroked the cracked head of the Hollow Knight with a loosened root. Some time ago, her child returned to her in a weakened frenzy, and having reached her, collapsed on the floor of her prison-turned-home.

 

Its strength, severely diminished, prevented the vessel from completely reforming and the rest of its body did not seem to keen of regenerating, even in the presence of soul humming in the air. She suspected that it was not merely lack of strength preventing it.

 

Possibly something mental, perhaps. The other vessel seemed capable of thought and it would not be too much of a stretch for the Hollow Knight to possess it as well. Quite the oversight she and her dear wyrm made with their already egregious actions.

 

Regardless of her child’s failure, she gratefully received it into her arms. This could be a chance to ease away some prior wrongdoings. Now if only it was conscious so that she may comfort it.

 

Right before the entrance of the other vessel and its companion, she got her wish. As if it quickly gained a rush of will and power, the black liquid suddenly oozed out of the mask like a spring and took shape.

 

A slight twitch signaled its consciousness, and she rubbed its chin.

 

The vessel drew back quickly and lowered its head, a sign that she had subliminally associated with shame in her child, but wouldn’t let herself believe until recently.

 

She closed her eyes slowly. “To the best of your ability you fought. The infection escaped, though not through fault of your own. I implore you, forgive yourself.”

 

It looked down, it looked up at her, down and up, down and up. Eventually, its gaze settled on her, and a rough, shaky noise filtered from it. She started.

 

A voice? Not possible, unless perhaps the Radiance-

 

 _“F-failure. For-give?"_ it rattled out.

 

“Yes,” she urged. “Forgive. It is the fault of mine and our king.”

 

A paused ensued.

 

 _“Forgive,”_ it said moments later, with a slightly stronger voice.

 

She nodded, and even though that would likely not be the last of it, her child could begin to heal beginning with that.

 

The two suddenly snapped their eyes on the entrance. Quickly, her child withdrew into the shadows.

 

The distinct signature of the void, not of the Hollow Knight, made itself known and oddly enough, a peculiarly mobile ghost seemed to have come in as well.

 

“Oh? Returned, did you?” she said as they entered. “A bow would be appropriate had I not been restrained. I thank you once, I thank you once more. To do enough is impossible.”

 

Of course, she received no response from the addressee, but there was a sort of apprehension seeping into the room.

 

The culprit appeared to be the ghost. She turned to face her, locating her despite her clouded sight.

 

“What may the issue be?”

 

She seemed mildly startled at being addressed, but responded smoothly. “Dryya, my lady.”

 

How curious. “What of her?”

 

“She’s-” the ghost seemed to struggle with herself, but completed her thought. “Dryya is dead, and the rest of the five will grieve.”

 

How silly to assume based on appearance, youngling. “No, she lives. My roots tell.”

 

“How?” she exclaimed.

 

“Soul is an ephemeral, strength-deeming energy. Her armor, infused with it, is tied to her life. If it were to disappear, no more would she be.

 

The White Lady could hear slight mumbling and hushed whispers, but did not inquire. There was no malice to be wary of.

 

“How long will she remain like that?”

 

“The scuffle was a short affair. Recent and brutal. She shall recover within weeks’ time lacking aid.”

 

Relief flooded the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck canon, I say as i scroll though the hollow knight wiki for the 6th time today.


	10. The Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking answers, the Hollow Knight travels to their old home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: i’m in the middle of artfight, which lasts until the end of july so i’ll be inactive for a bit

It was very soon after being chosen that the Hollow Knight knew deeply that they would not be able to fulfill their role as the pure vessel. 

 

As they stood there, staring into the eyes of their unchosen kin, doomed to die, if they could, very soon. It was then that a small something, not an unfeeling, first clung to them and took root. A clod tangled on the assigned purpose of their existence. 

 

While it was inevitable that such a thing would have occurred sooner or later, the not so empty dark in their kin’s eyes, so focused on theirs as they clutched onto the cold metal platform, certainly sowed the first seeds of it. A primal stirring, simple but undecipherable at the time. Who would have known that even that would’ve constituted as an idea?

 

The crux of their father’s plan was, unfortunately, their supposed purity from it.

 

The months and then years that passed proved something they dreaded. However they tried to banish thoughts and feelings, they would not leave. In fact, they grew and grew and grew until they had to face the burning orange their father hated so much and finally understood why that requirement was there at all.

 

…

 

Why? Why were they chosen?

 

Thoughts like this permeated their brain as they hung in the sealed chamber, and when the orange eventually bled out from them, they knew they finally failed.

 

They gingerly traced the crack that split their mask and looked to their mother. The gaze she fixed them with had a different quality than they were used to; it possessed a far more sympathetic tint that was absent prior to the sealing. Neither could the age-clouded eyes hide a quiet sort of regretfulness.

 

A slight headbutt to her side was enough to catch her attention, and the Hollow Knight spoke, albeit unevenly.

 

“How… did you cho-ose?

 

Sighing heavily, the White Lady said “I did not. A convoluted process it was not, but no aid I provided.”

 

They lowered their head in disappointment, but made no other physical gesture.

 

“Closure, is it? You want to know.” It was not a question. “Then seek the King.”

 

Their head whipped up sharply. Whatever feelings they felt mixed into a slurry; apprehension, relief, guilt, and surprisingly, a twinge of anger swirled and bubbled.

 

“Go,” she stated quietly. “You will find an answer.”

 

And with no small amount of hesitation, the Hollow Knight clambered gracelessly out the exit and set out for the White Palace. Though on their frantic journey to their mother they had seen the outside post sealing, the dripping void and single-minded focus made them miss more than they liked to admit.

 

Going to see it now through a clear, although still burdened mind still sparked a sort of dulled interest. How had the world fared all this time?

 

The answer: not particularly well, as far as they had seen, anyways.

 

Empty husks with infection stains littered even the Queen’s beloved garden, having overtaken the once heavily guarded retreat. Strange mantis-like creatures also lay scattered around as well. It seemed as though the race might have formed a new breed somehow.

 

Suddenly, they noticed the entrance to the stag station mother had always used in prior to her binding. They slowly maneuvered themself toward it, and saw the tarnished summoning bell. Regardless of the urge to see more of the Hallownest, taking a ride would make the commute far simpler, to their annoyance. Exploring could come later

 

With a weak strike, a ringing noise echoed into the empty halls. In half a minute, a time-worn old stag dashed into view with a surprised expression. His eyes grew wide as he realized his newest customer.

 

“You...aren’t you the King’s child?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

The two stared at each other for a few moments, until the silence was broken by the stag.

 

“Where would you like to go?”

 

“Palace Grounds.”

 

“Understood. Climb on.”

 

They did as he said, and soon they felt the cool air of the tunnel ruffle the tattered edges of their cloak. It was only stepping off the stag’s back did he initiate any more conversation.

 

“Have you ever come upon a silent grub with a pale, horned head and a cloak like yours?” he asked.

 

They nodded, having talked more than they were comfortable with today.

 

The stag gave a crinkled smile. “You remind me a little of each other, you know?”

 

Not knowing how to respond, the Hollow Knight stared at him and walked out. It was a rather inadequate response his mother would have chided him for, but he didn’t seem to mind, so it must have been alright.

 

It took awhile for the question of how the stag, uncleared for the knowledge of the hidden station, knew about its existence. It was merely a curiosity and ignored it as they went off in pursuit of their original goal. However, when they finally arrived, only the still-towering remains of the palace greeted them, looking as if someone had dumped the entire structure on the ground and watched it crumble in.

 

They stood in stunned silence, absently noting the white, void-stained armor scattered on the ground in the vague shape of Kingsmould.

 

A slight twitch in the leg was enough to spur them to move on. When confronted by the rubble, they merely picked their way around it until the heap hid the ground from view. Then, they stepped atop it, staring skyward at the cavernous ceiling, nail hanging loosely from their hand.

 

Lost? Is what they would call themself now?

 

Gradually, they lowered their head. Out of the corner of their eye, a small flash of white stood out amongst the shattered walls and bent metal. Somehow, it beckoned in a way they couldn’t quite explain. 

 

The Hollow Knight made their way to it, focus completely centered and absorbed. They did not flinch as they dug it out, rough shards cutting and scraping calloused hands. 

 

When enough rubble had been cleared, they gripped the sides and gently pried it out. Then, they carefully set it on the ground and observed the egg; it was leathery and round and possessed a peculiar, unearthly sheen.

 

They drew nail and stabbed down on it.

 

A small, white figure, pale as the egg itself, toppled bare out of the gaping cut. It was taking heaving breaths, steadying its weakened body as it looked up at their son with barely open eyes.

 

“Wh-who… are you?” it gasped.

 

Elsewhere, the Queen closed her eyes and felt a wave of familiar energy wash over her, and her once-tight bindings split and tear.

 

“So he has finally returned?” she asked. “Not quite whole though?”

 

Nobody was there to hear, so the words merely echoed off the walls and died unanswered. Undeterred, she reached up pulled down some smaller roots on her head. Dust fell as they were moved after years of stillness, but she hardly seemed to care. 

 

She only gave it a cursory wipe with her sleeve and deftly sliced a small portion off.

 

Lifting the root, the White Lady pressed it to her head, eyes still shut. 

 

“The wrongdoings of my past… they remain forever. Even then I long for things I should not. My actions now, are they compromise or repentance?”

 

The severed root glowed a blinding light and she opened her clouded eyes. As soon as the light completely faded, she toppled over, cradling her new-born self.

 

It would only be later, when Dryya shook off the last dregs of sleep and checked in worriedly, noticing the change in soul leaking out of cocoon, that the dead body would be discovered and the sleeping child pried out of its hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's a decent bit of disagreement/dislike about tpk and twl and their nature and I'm not saying there isn't a good reason for that, but they are interesting characters and I wanted to see if I could do something with them


	11. A Minor Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two higher beings arrive in Dirtmouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im in college now. Also a preemptive apology to Quirrel is needed.

Let it be known that if a question regarding moral ambiguity or something of the like were to come into scrutiny, Quirrel would say he’d prefer to be left out of it. Of course, even though he claimed that, as soon as one popped up in that little, not quite so dreary town of Dirtmouth, it clung to him like glue.

 

It all first began when Bretta, listening to Zote rambling as usual (although he was rather sure she looked a tad disillusioned at this point) began screeching so loud that it prompted almost everyone in hearing range to drop their current task and look. To the onlookers’ surprise she had screamed not in fear, but in adoration. At least that’s what it looked like.

 

“So _tall!_ So _dark and mysterious_!” Quirrel heard as he rushed to the stag station’s entrance. He couldn’t help but sigh at her reaction, but as his attention landed on the newcomer he had a far larger issue to worry about.

 

If Quirrel still had a wage he’d be complaining about how he wasn’t paid enough for this.

 

Even still, he had to admit that even if he wasn’t there he’d eventually be overpowered by curiosity and show up anyway.

 

“You’re the Hollow Knight,” came a voice on his left. Hornet, one of the swiftest and most alert townsbugs, had arrived a fraction of a second after him. “I suppose it wouldn’t be altogether too strange, though. What is more suspicious is the thing you travel with.”

 

The small, white creature holding on tightly on the Hollow Knight’s back shifted somewhat. Oddly familiar glowing spires peeked from behind their two-pronged head. Without looking, she drew her needle and whipped it in the direction on a very startled ghost. “And you, Flena. You’ve been acting unusual lately. May they be linked?”

 

Flena fumbled. “No! Wait, kind of?” Her antennae drooping sheepishly. “Okay, fine. I’ll explain. And if you don’t believe me, ask your little ghost. They know.”

 

With an irritated twitch, Hornet side eyed her sibling, sidling to her side. They merely looked away as if admiring the shell pattern on the nearest house. Amusing, but strangely atypical. Mikkel rarely withheld any truly important information without a reason. Speaking of strange, they were also now staring at the station entrance with an suspicious intensity.

 

The scene was now filled with a small congregation of confused bugs, glancing at the lanky, stooped figure.

 

Bretta had been correct in her assertion of mystery. It practically seemed to exude from the situation at hand. If Quirrel had not known better, he would have also said the same, though maybe not in such a manner. 

 

“Oh yeah,” Flena piped up. “Please don’t be too surprised when-”

 

Hornet immediately appeared to tense as the grinding of the stag station lift began again, muffled but all-encompassing. It creaked to a stop, and after what felt like hours, another familiar figure slowly stepped into view.

 

Quirrel started when the unanimous cry of “Dryya!” rang from behind him. 

 

It seemed that all but Ze’mer were present at her arrival, but even she quickly flung her door open at the exuberant call of an old friend’s name. Dryya, seeming to have already prepared herself prior, only marginally tightened the hold on that odd bundle in her arms. A rush ensued as the quintet of warriors and Flena formed a huddle and began throwing around exclamations and answers.

 

As for the Hollow Knight, they awkwardly stood stock-still, not even twitching as the child on their head shifted positions and poked around. Thankfully, Hornet seemed to take mercy in her own odd way and momentarily directed her attention to them.

 

She narrowed her eyes and grabbed the knight. “As you don’t seem intent on talking with me, will you two communicate with one another?”

 

The two nodded simultaneously.

 

“Good. I have some questions. Where did you escape to?”

 

 _The Queen,_ ghost translated.

 

“Why did you come here?”

 

_Warrior lady wanted to_

 

“Was it necessary for you to come?”

 

_No_

 

“Then why?”

 

_Parents-_

 

In the blink of an eye, Hornet lassoed the Pale King and whipped him toward her. The child flailed and struggled in midair, revolving slowly.

 

Oh dear, what a violent approach.

 

“Release me, stranger!” cried the child in a squeaky voice.

 

She started in a way unlike anything he’d seen before; in a visible wave of shock that swiftly spread from her face and outward. In response, the Hollow Knight dipped their head in a nod. Taking advantage of the lull in attentiveness, the king smacked her in the face with one of his abnormally long horns and scrambled away to the Hollow Knight when she inevitably lost her grip. To the king’s obvious relief his temporary captor didn’t reattempt a recapture.

 

In a not too ingenuous manner, Hornet rubbed her chin and dissipated her thread. However, her needle still glinted abnormally bright in the gloomy ambient light. Perhaps it was time to interfere?

 

“Miss Hornet,” Quirrel began. “Mayhap you give the Pale King a chance to explain? Request a few queries?” Or many, he added silently.

 

After a second of contemplation she fastened her needle to her back, though her expression remained worrisome.

 

“Yes, that would be prudent,” she conceded.

 

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Things could’ve gotten far more physical, and the Hollow Knight looked more poised to draw nail than he was comfortable with.

 

“What is the last you remember of the infection?” she demanded.

 

The Pale King tilted his head. “You mean like a disease of some sort? I know quite a bit about those.”

 

A hand raised to pinch the bridge of her nose was enough to signify her chagrin. Adopting a sniffy tone, he spoke in a perceptive but jarringly quasi-childish-adultish tone. “Infection is a vague word, unless you’re implying that there was one very specific one referred to in that way? “Your words suggest that.”

 

“No, well, yes.” Hornet sighed. “And your name would be?”

 

“I don’t have one.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Wyrms aren’t born with one.”

 

What the Pale King spoke raised an old memory from the back of Quirrel’s mind. Monomon’s words echoed in his head. _“The reason why the King is referred to using the characteristic ‘pale’ is because he never gave his own name, and consequently the Hallownest’s denizens bestowed him with this title.”_ It wasn’t implausible to think that he didn’t retain a name from birth and instead came upon a replacement.

 

“Well then, henceforth I shall call you Etiolate. A suitable name for you.”

 

Quirrel snapped away from his thoughts just as the King started sputtering indignantly. “How rude! I had come into your presence mere moments ago and you seek feud so swiftly?”

 

“I am afraid to inform you that I and the two void beings here are much more heavily entwined with your past than you appear to remember,” she replied simply.

 

“You’ve calmed quick,” noted Quirrel.

 

She closed her eyes, then faced the diminutive figure clinging to the Hollow Knight’s leg. “I cannot fault an amnesiac child with the crimes of the Pale King. Even him, as much as it irritates me. I will have no trouble tormenting him for his personality regardless of that, however.”

 

“I can hear you, churlish lady.” interjected the King. From what I’ve collected, you claim that I possess a past unknown to me. I should be privy to that tale, no?”

 

“Even the way he speaks is an annoyance,” commented Hornet. He bristled. At this point, the knights seemed to see fit in joining the conversation, ending any retort he might have thought up to retaliate.

 

“I believe the queen is in a similar predicament as well,” said Isma.

 

Dryya nodded. “When I conversed with the queen’s apparent child-self, she did not appear to hold any knowledge of her past actions. We believe at least one was subject to a self-induced rebirth.”

 

“The symptoms line up,” agreed Quirrel. “Although there’s been no documented occurrence, old legends often mention a cycle of reincarnation for higher beings. They are both creatures of light connected by archaic marital rites so it would not be odd that they manifested at the same time.

 

The being in question merely shifted in her ragged bundle, seemingly alseep.

 

“Well, they surely cannot take care of themselves, so I will raise the queen with the aid of my fellows,” asserted Dryya.

 

Hornet looked to her. “What of him, then?”

 

“I refuse. Never truly liked him. I tolerated his presence on the wishes of my lady and now that I am free of that I no longer must.”

 

“Fair enough,” Hornet replied steadily. “Then who will?”

 

Shaking his head, Quirrel said, “It wouldn’t be fair for you, Mikkel, or Hollow to take the burden, unless you wish to?” 

 

The knight and Hollow shook their heads simultaneously while Hornet nailed him with a threatening glare. Message understood. “There’s still Elderbug, but the stress would wear the poor old bug out. Ogrim likes the King plenty, but do I trust him to raise-“

 

“You,” interrupted Hornet. “Why not you?”

 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly-“

 

“You have no real tasks and are old enough to do so.”

 

“Wait, but-“

 

“Meeting adjourned. Here.” She yanked the squirming King away from Hollow, the latter of which did not protest this time, and summarily dropped him in Quirrel’s hands. He looked at the indignant child struggling in his grip with undisguised apprehension. 

 

Was he really prepared for such a role?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> etiolate  
> eti·o·late | \ ˈē-tē-ə-ˌlāt \  
> 1 : to make pale  
> 2 : to deprive of natural vigor : make feeble
> 
> I’m going to sleep now


	12. Elegy for the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King’s child self is taken on an educational trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s an early update for you guys ;)

“Quirrel, what did that ill-tempered miss mean by infection?”

 

He sighed, knowing full well the question would come after they escaped the buzz of onlookers. “Should I be blunt?”

 

Blinking with suspicious expression, the Pale King, although he no longer truly possessed that title, huffed. “What content in it requires so much difficulty to divulge?”

 

“You have no idea, child.”

 

“Such a rude titling.”

 

“Then should I call you Etiolate, as Hornet suggested?”

 

“I refuse on behalf of my dignity.” He sat down in a pout.

 

“You’re pouting.”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Then chose a name.” ‘There’s not a chance in the name of Hallownest that I could refer to this child as a king _’_ went unsaid.

 

“Uhh,” he fumbled, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “On terms that it not be that crass word, I shall respond.”

 

Quirrel _hmm_ ed. “Etty, is that alright.”

 

“Peculiarly specific, but I believe it shall do.”

 

…

 

“Wait! Did you derive Etty from _that_ word?”

 

The look on Quirrel’s face was all he needed to know. “You duplicitous-”

 

“Pause your rant, you did explicitly agree to it.”

 

Seeming more petulant than ever, he stopped arguing. “Correct. I hastily agreed without ruminating on it. Rest assured I will not fall prey once more and continue with your explanation now.”

 

Ah, they were talking about the infection. He almost forgot. Laughing to himself, he lead him into a part of town less trodden in. “There was once a goddess, the old light that used to rule Hallownest, although it wasn’t called that at the time.”

 

Etty listened with rapt attention, drinking in every word. A remarkably good student he would be if this were a school and if he were not so high-strung.

 

“I remember Monomon, my old teacher, found out a little of what it was like at the time through bits of information prised out of crumbling artifacts; bugs held little more than base instinct, though vivid emotion still thrived. For much, maybe even the majority of history, life took this form, but…”

 

“Something happened.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“Yes, and that something was the Pale King.” No recognition showed on Etty’s face. Either that or the kid was a damn good actor.

 

“Quite the title. Simple yet regal.”

 

Quirrel had to hold in a snort. “Yes, yes, but that is beside the point. Hallownest wasn’t big enough for the two of them, and according to confidential past research the power struggle began when he exerted his mysterious influence over a few scattered populations of bugs, granting them enough presence of mind for them to fear reverting to their original state. It later expanded to the devout moth tribe and, to a lesser degree, Unn’s children.

 

Maintaining an expression of deep thought, he muttered, “Confidential?”

 

“The knowledge of these could have undermined the image of an all-powerful god. Some of the later bugs under the King did not even realize there were kingdoms prior to Hallownest, but some did speculate of a civilization that worshipped the very darkness itself. We now know that substance to be void.”

 

“Void, you say? I recall that lady mentioning void beings. Was she suggesting the existence autonomous creatures composed of that matter?”

 

He nodded. “The Pale King fiddled with it, ‘the power opposed,’ he called it. Due to my position as the highest student of Monomon, she was cleared to share the information with me. It was the ancient enemy of the gods of light and partially due to that that he decided to experiment with it. To contain the infection, I mean. The guards of his palace were also made of void, but I digress. Look how well it all turned out.”

 

“It failed?”

 

“It didn’t appear to at first. The plague disappeared for a period of time, but the old light eventually broke out of its initial container, the Hollow Knight themself.”

 

Etty started, then said, “The fellow which escorted me to this location?”

 

“The one and only.”

 

“That scarred, damaged creature? How?”

 

“They weren’t always like that,” sighed Quirrel, picturing the towering figure in their prime. “Once upon a time they were whole and powerful, selected from the many vessels the King created. Even they weren’t strong enough and she soon began to exude her power in the form of the infection. Vast swathes of the population were wiped out and only a few survivors made it, many of whom were mantids, who, as violent as their traditions are, were usually powerful enough to reject it.”

 

He rested his hand against his face in a gesture of thought and raised a brow. “What of the non chosen?”

 

“Not sure. I’ve never heard. A relatively large number, I know, but they all just seem to have disappeared,” answered Quirrel. Honestly, he did wonder. How could they all vanish without some sort of record?

 

“Questionable, but not of current importance.”

 

Quirrel didn’t even blink when the flash of a pure nail came blunt side down.

 

“Ack!” cried Etty, leaping up to face his assailant.

 

“I wonder if that’s called retribution,” he said under his breath as Mikkel came out from the shadows, seemingly unperturbed by the presence of their father.

 

It seemed as if petty umbrage was Etty’s most common state of mind at this point, and it was no surprise when he started flinging indecipherably old curses at them; he jabbed fingers and tossed accusations in the face of an expressionless vessel.

 

 Quirrel genuinely did not know what their feelings and opinions were on this situation. There wasn’t a guide on what to do when your friend’s supposedly dead father reappears as a child with no memories of the crime he’s committed. He really wish there was, he thought as he grabbed Etty and attempted to calm him. To the pillbug’s surprise, the knight leapt up, nabbed their father from his grasp, and took off.

 

“Mikkel? What in the king’s na- I mean Hallownest- are you doing?”

 

In response, they merely glanced back, then kept moving. Quirrel followed. 

 

He doubted that they would truly harm him, but considering who Etty was... well, you never know.

 

The trio dropped through the well and headed past the many times repaired waypost to the open room of platforms. The gruzzers that flew mindlessly about the room were no longer present, of course, but he could practically hear the buzzing. However, rather than descending like he expected, they dashed across the room to an entrance on the opposite side.

 

As he watched, Mikkel plopped the slightly winded child in front of a massively bloated, elderly-looking grub. 

 

Suddenly, it struck him.

 

“Etty, do you know what that is?” he asked, pointing at the dozing Grubfather.

 

“A… rather substantial grub?” The knight stared him down.

 

“Yes, but why?”

 

“Why? What are you posing a question of?”

 

Preparing for another explanation, Quirrel walked up to Etty and told him to face his ear toward the old grub’s belly.

 

“Hear it?” he asked. “Hear the sound of chattering grubs?”

 

“Yes, but-” a dawning look of horror crossed his face. “That horrid old wretch!” he cried.

 

“Hush, they’ve been in there for a while, it’s quite alright actually.”

 

At Quirrel’s words of assurance, he calmed down marginally and threw him a somewhat bewildered glance. “Alright is relative. Will they escape alive and whole?”

 

“Oh, more than that,” he laughed. “The baby grubs will emerge not as grubs, but as grubberflies.”

 

“A metamorphosis?”

 

“Yes. The old Grubfather chose to sacrifice the rest of his short life to ensure that the rest of his children would grow to their fullest, safe and sound within his belly.”

 

It was then that Quirrel noticed the knight, gently rubbing the top of the Grubfather’s head. He had to revise what he had said earlier about him. He didn’t seem to be dozing, more like close to the edge of death.

 

“Ah seems like we’re lucky,” he said, watching a small split open 

 

Evidently confused, the child said, “How so?”

 

“We’re about to witness a birthing, in a sense.”

 

The split immediately grew and flew open. The hum of silvery grubberfly wings filled the air, and they all wasted no time zipping around on newfound flight. 

 

Etty stared on in silence, mouth partially agape as he took in the shimmering new forms. His eyes still followed them as they lighted down next to the corpse of their former guardian, apparently mourning his death. It was heartfelt and short, and they disappeared as quickly as they were born.

 

“The father sacrificed himself for his children,” Etty murmured. He turned around to face where the knight was standing. “Why did you usher me to this happening?”

 

But they were already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tpk is being passed around like a hot potato
> 
> On another note, it’s very likely that the Grubfather is legitimately doing what I claim in this chapter. The elegy is for the father, not his children, and his actions are a foil to Tpk’s own.


	13. Here and There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to do too much stuff at once rn. see you in like 1-2 months maybe.
> 
> Also I hit 20,000+ words :))  
> ive never done that before

For the longest time, and by that, he meant the past day or so, Etty had been observing this odd, glowing-white child through the window of the pointy knight lady’s house.

 

His eye twitched irritatedly. Every time he got close, pointy knight intervened and firmly (and none too gently) pushed him in the other direction. It was almost like she had some sort of grudge. Why did so many seem to hold grudges against him even though he’d never met them? Was there something he did not know?

 

A shiny blue glint caught his eye, shaking him from his thoughts. At last, her glossy, clear eyes finally fixed themselves on his own and he felt himself begin to loosen his grip and tumble off the house he had so very, very stealthily clambered onto.

 

A small tumble later and he found himself dazed on the ground. However, he couldn’t really find it in himself to be annoyed as he watched the target of his curiosity draw close.

 

She unhinged the creaky window with little difficulty, a root easily propping it open as she leaned out and stared curiously at him. Now that he could see her clearly, he realized that even despite her single main body, her legs were very numerous and looked slightly tangled without being really tangled, judging by their occasional movement. He couldn’t really judge, though. Everyone always underestimated how many limbs he had as well.

 

Etty opened his mouth to speak, but he was not the first to talk. “Not far one walks to greet me. What little creature might you be?”

 

“A wyrm, miss. Might you not call me little? You seem to possess only a little more leverage than I in that category,” he replied smoothly.

 

A small giggle escaped her. Wordlessly, she popped out of the window, accidentally snapping it out of its hinge in an unintentional show of strength. Then she landed right in front of him. Indeed, she was taller; even with his spires, she towered a respectable amount higher than him, especially including the tendrils on her head.

 

Pale sleeves, nearly as blindingly bright as the rest of her, were raised to her face in a gesture of lilting amusement. She reached out with a tendril and he reached for hers. Closer and closer-

 

“Pause there, you mischief-maker!”

 

The minute child found himself pushed back with a foot, staring down the much taller figure sighing with the white child in her arms. 

 

He huffed in frustration and didn’t try not to glare. This was the closest he had managed to get the whole time and he was denied it! The odd draw he felt, the shine of her eyes, the lightness and purpose in her gestures and body language. Was that why he so intrigued?

 

There was annoyance on the pointy knight face as she began to grumble. “I leave for a moment to survey the Menderbash and you show up? Do you watch her like a greedy surveiler?”

 

“Nary a thing I feel could be conveyed properly to a tightfisted upkeeper in knight’s clothing like you,” he snapped back.

 

To his shock, a small laugh escaped her as she pressed a free hand to her face, shoulders shaking in a mild effort to keep still. “You’re different now, that attitude of yours. I keep forgetting even despite it all.”

 

“What does that even mean?” muttered Etty.

 

Dryya fixed an uncomfortably cold stare on him. “I know what you’re capable of, what you  _ could _ be. Don’t ever value results over heart.”

 

A shiver passed through him at her confounding intensity, but she pushed onward like a hot knife through butter. “Let us dearly hope you don’t reach that point, for Hallownest knows what will smite you this time.”

 

In spite of the sudden drop in atmosphere, a sort of morbid curiosity set in. This time? The number of questions he had only grew.

 

The two looked searchingly at each other. The tension grew higher and more strained, but he didn’t notice until the white child popped it like a fog canyon bubble.

 

“Menderbash?” she piped up in the silence.

 

Etty released the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Dryya’s eyes lost their hardened edge. The white child blinked innocently. Did she intend to diffuse the tension or was it a coincidence?

 

“There you are!” he twitched as the familiar voice caught his attention.

 

The trio turned to see Quirrel stride toward them, the knight sitting on top of his head, and a hammer-wielding bug trailing behind, buzzing forward on stubby little wings. It seemed that he had given in on walking to keeping up with Quirrel, whose much longer legs made it difficult to do so. Was it manners or pride that stopped him from hitching a ride like the knight?

 

A sigh of relief came from the pointy knight. “Good. You two should be much better at explaining than I.”

 

“That is not something I doubt,” Etty snarked under his breath. Her side eye told him she definitely heard, but the earlier animosity seemed to have dissipated, thankfully.

 

“Please hurry, then! We have to make it on time!” the menderbug urged. 

 

The much more calm Quirrel patted his back in a mollifying manner. “We’re still early if you were truthful about the secret passageways.”

 

Secret passageways? Suddenly he noticed the look in Quirrel’s eye. Had he intentionally dropped a hint about something that was sure to catch his interest?

 

Still patting the menderbug’s back, Quirrel winked and held up an ok sign when he realized Etty had caught on. 

 

Very subtle.

 

“Well, if you insist, then we can just explain it to them on the way, Mender Bleu.”

 

“Oh, are they coming along too? How nice!” he said. “We’ve never have any non-mender spectators before.”

 

Etty tilted his head. “And why is that?”

 

Bleu smiled. “Oh, King’s decree. A menderbug shall work out of the view of others. It was repealed recently though, and speaking of the king, you look-”

 

“Ah, is that Hornet?” interrupted Quirrel.

 

Indeed it was. A flash of red and the glint of glowing thread was all that was needed to identify her. “I apologise for being slightly late. I was cleaning my cloak after... a minor incident including Ogrim.” a very slight shudder from her was enough to convince him that she wasn’t lying.

 

She gestured in the direction of the town well. “I would not do me well to dwell. Let us head out.”

 

Excitedly, the menderbug zipped forward in a burst of energy and everyone quickly followed suit. Not technically the white child, though. She was just being carried along. Semantics.

 

Feeling a light tap on his back, Etty looked up to see Quirrel, who was offering a hand.

 

“Hm? What for?”

 

Quirrel blinked. “What do you mean, ‘what for?’ Think you can keep up?”

 

“Oh.” He made a motion to rub his head sheepishly, but retracted it before it made contact. “You seem to be of the belief that you can carry both the void child and I at once and still keep up with our consorts.”

 

The corners of his eyes seemed to crinkle in amusement. “Try me,” Quirrel said as he picked him up and held him in his arms. Etty rolled his eyes, but blinked curiously when the void child shuffled forward and looked down at him. Suddenly he became too conscious of how much he seemed like a cradled little grub in Quirrel’s arms. 

 

The stare of the child became oddly intense; it was almost as though they were trying to see through him. Uncomfortably motionless and still, the pitch darkness of the child’s eyes became more and more eerie until they turned their head up and swatted playfully at Quirrel’s face as if they hadn’t been exerting that heavy pressure a second ago.

 

Etty sighed in relief and abruptly felt the force of his carrier’s movement slam into him as he shot off to join the rest.

 

“No more dallying, they’ve all probably made it by now!” Quirrel said as the wind whipped around the trio. Etty off-handedly wondered how the void child was holding on at this speed.

 

It didn’t take long to catch up to the main group, seeing as they were still somewhere in the dark greyish blue caves below the town. Menderbug was at the front, wings humming, determinedly making his way ahead with what seemed like long-bottled nervous energy finally leaking out. The sight of his reflective wings glinting in the dim light made Etty’s back twinge oddly. A vague longing momentaily settled in his stomach, but he immediately pushed it down as soon as he noticed. Envy was unbecoming.

 

They all stopped when the menderbug stopped, which was right in front of a wall unobtrusively built to look like stone. Pulling out a key from his case, he stuck it into a small crack in the wall and the resounding click filled the air. Dryya reached for the newly-appeared door, but paused to glance at him politely for acknowledgement. The menderbug nodded.

 

The sight of a small tunnel strung with lumafly lights greeted them. “You see, these are the pathways we menderbugs use to navigate unseen. Very handy, if I do say so myself.”

 

Through the tunnel, various other ways seemed to branch off from their current one, and they took turn after turn. It was a wonder how he managed to know exactly where everything was, judging by the pointing and explaining he was doing.

 

“That path over there was constructed after complaints about how difficult it was to reach the crystal village without being seen. That one over there is very old, I asked my mentor when it was dug and he shrugged! He was older than my great grandfather at the time!” he rattled off. Rambling seemed to calm the menderbug down so Etty didn’t interrupt. The others seemed to be riding the same train of thought.

 

Finally, an oddly elaborate and abnormally large door loomed into view. Once again the menderbug lifted a different key, having already pulled it out of his bag, and plugged it into the lock. 

 

Dryya didn’t need to offer her aid this time. Someone was already on the other end of the door and helped open it the instant it unlocked.

 

Half breathless, the menderbug answered the good samaritan. “Mender Berri?”

 

The larger bug seemed to perk up at the voice. “Mender Bleu?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the abrupt cutoff guys but the chapter was going to get abnormally long if I kept going


	14. Menderbash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote partially in midnight/early morning haze. got a rush of motivation. thank the song "love like you" for this update. I have a strong animation idea for this fic now, though I'm not sure if i'll actually do it
> 
> A lot had happened in my life since my last update. Finished my first semester of college, got better at art, and I'm trying to earn a bit of money. Opened a Redbubble and (eventually a Teepublic) account, and I'm also taking art commissions now!
> 
> here's some more self promotion ↓  
> https://www.instagram.com/qu1mser/

Hornet twitched in irritation, staring at the two menderbugs making eyes at each other. 

 

She had been forced to bear spectacle to them while sitting in the audience seating. It sounded odd that the elusive menderbugs would have something so stadium-like, until the realization hit that it was basically a more of a rotational seating area, and there was plenty of room for the menderbugs to shuffle around from here to the arena. Of course they could fly but it seemed to be tradition.

 

Technically, she didn’t have to watch the duo, but it was difficult not to considering that their voices carried very well. _Very_ well. The two lovebugs flitted around each other once again but this time she was distracted by a slight shifting underneath her cloak. 

 

She had brought the weaver eggs along. Normally, she would’ve condoned such an action, but seeing as they were exhibiting some movement and the menderbash was a rare happening (especially with non-guild members). Fortunately or unfortunately, there wasn’t much to carry since not all of the eggs were fertile; in fact, only four had a chance at bearing live weaverlets. She did have some thanks that weavers didn’t have a grub stage, at least.

 

A minor risk could be taken to take them along. It’s not as if she wasn’t one of the strongest bugs in the room, after all, so the chance of an unfixable disaster was basically nil with her protection.

 

Menderbugs shuffled around, still preparing for whatever competition they were going with this time. Even with all the hectic but oddly strategic looking movement, Hornet still easily sensed Mender Bleu approaching awkwardly from the side.

 

“Is it time for me to make the announcement?” she asked preemptively.

 

Bleu, caught off guard, responded with a stuttered affirmation. Either she still frightened him or he had the jitters from talking to his love interest. Probably both.

 

She stood up, mindful of eggs strung to her front, and walked over to the ghost. They were tugging at Quirrel’s bandana from the back, much to his apparent amusement. That odd fellow seemed to exude a fond father or uncle-like aura at times, in spite of the initial instability he displayed when he arrived. Having little ghost on your tail for months would do that to a bug like him.

 

“Would you accompany me?” Hornet said. They looked up and raised their stubby arms toward her. She took that as a yes.

 

She lighted down in the center of the stage with her sibling in her arms, and a wave of silence fell upon the small crowd. Obviously, the mass of menderbugs wanted an explanation for the outsiders among their throng and she was expected to deliver.

 

With a slight nod to the current king, now standing to her left, she began.

 

“As a hidden guild of Hallownest, all menderbugs were told to stay out of sight due to royal ordinance. Of course, as dedicated workers, many of you opted to follow the original decree. I assume most menderbugs here fall into that category?”

 

An enthusiastic chorus of agreement echoed inside the cavern. Internally, Hornet was laughing somewhat. She was going to enjoy the chaos visited upon her unsuspecting audience. 

 

“I expected no less. Now, by the wish of I, the daughter of the first king of Hallownest-”

 

Cue the hushed whispering and confused shouting.

 

_“First king? What?”_

 

“ _Daughter? The king had a daughter?_

 

“-and the current king at my side-”

 

Sheer uproar. She waited half a minute for the din to subside, but when it didn’t, she whipped the air around her with glowing thread and gestured for quiet. The chivvying tone of her mother echoed clearly at the back of her mind. She always did have a slight mischievous streak outside of official duties, after all.

 

“The elusive guild of the menderbugs are no longer under oath to remain out of the sight of Hallownest’s citizens.”

 

Silence. Then, an explosion of questions and some dispersed cheering, they began riotously chattering among themselves and formed a small flood surrounding the duo. She could barely restrain herself from leaping out of the sudden swarm. Even Etty somehow got dragged into it, as she could feel the slight bumps from his mini spires at her side. 

 

As a member of royalty, however tenuously in this broken old kingdom, would at least be obligated to answer some questions. Even then, these menderbugs as a whole were far too comfortable to the concept of touch. It seemed that Mender Bleu was the odd, polite bug out in this mass. 

 

“Halt your crowding and pushing,” Hornet commanded. 

 

They all flew back immediately, revealing ghost to be uncomfortably clinging onto her legs in an attempt to remain near.

 

This was going to be a long session, she thought with minor annoyance.

 

* * *

 

Bretta could admit she became infatuated more easily than the average bug. In fact, between bouts, there was an uncomfortable awareness of it. Not only that, but everyone she had felt an attraction to never seemed to return the same feelings.

 

That wasn’t always a bad thing, though. The last fellow with a troubled past could hardly be considered a life companion. He never did seem to stop talking about himself and barely noticed when she slipped away.

 

And that shining knight? It was just a quiet little bug that never talked. They weren’t romantic at all. She got over that crush rather quickly in their long periods of absence.

 

A life companion wasn’t easy to come by, especially with how choosy her criteria could be at times.

 

Come to think of it, there was one little bug who she had been hanging around for a bit now. She was a little cheery bug that hardly fit the qualities of a pretty lady bug. However, her presence was surprisingly enjoyable despite her stocky, somewhat roughed appearance and habitual stuttering.

 

Myla often glowed with as much cheer as the crystals around her. It was nice to be near someone friendly as her, even if she did start singing without warning sometimes. Oddly enough, even when Bretta got carted off to some sort of “secret meeting” for these… building bugs fellows, she couldn’t really find it in herself to mind at all.

 

“I overheard s-some of them talking about menderbugs. I thought they were all just a story from the old days, but apparently they’re real!” Myla rambled. “I-I want to see!”

 

They had just passed through a carelessly hidden door with a scuffed cluster of footprints at the front. The previous group had definitely passed through here. However, the network of tunnels ahead could’ve proved troublesome. Fortunately, Bretta had a special little gift that shaved down guesswork to a minimum.

 

Myla gently poked at the antenna of her travel companion. “Who knew you had such good h-hearing?”

 

“These antennae aren’t here for nothing, you know,” she replied readily, puffing out her chest.

 

After some more light jibing and chatting, they pushed through a rather fancy-looking door to what appeared to be some sort of raucous performance. A heap of scrap pieces were assembled into a pile, and the audience was shouting encouragement.

 

“And for the next performance,” shouted an announcer through a shiny grey object, “Mender Garue will assemble a functioning ornate lumafly lanturn!”

 

With a slight gasp of wonder, Myla said “Is that an a-amplifier bug? I’ve never seen one before!”

 

“Amplifier bug? What is that?”

 

“Some sort of device suh...said to be created by some very clever bugs working under t-the Pale King. It makes your v-voice louder.”

 

Bretta blinked. “You seem to know a lot of stuff from old tales.”

 

“S-songs and stories and rhymes. That’s w-what I live for,” she said with a smile. “Never really r-realized how much it was a part of me until r-r-recently.”

 

“Menderbugs of all ages, take a gander of these results!” The two jumped at the sudden commentary and turned to look. A regal-looking lamp had been thrown together and fixed almost flawlessly, at least at first glance. 

 

The announcer was dramatically rubbing their chin. “But! How good is the function? A tool’s looks are second to its function!” More dramatic gasping from the audience as announcer bug flipped the switch. It flickered weakly, then as good as burned out. A disappointed huff and the Menderbug, Garue, if she remembered correctly, walked away to take a seat in the audience section. Other menderbugs patted her back consolingly on the way up.

 

“They’re awfully nice to eh… each other. That’s nice…”

 

Bretta turned to look at her. She seemed weirdly enamored with the whole thing.

 

While they had been distracted by Garue’s trek back to her seat, another menderbug had come down and somehow fixed it in a flash. It was now glowing like a jar of shaken lumaflies.

 

“Well, give your congratulations to Mender Berri!”

 

He took a deep bow, and took off to his seat with a light trot.

 

“Lastly, we’ll do something a little different! We’re sticking with the theme so next we’ll do a tall, standing streetlight, preferably a double sided one from the City of Tears! volunteers?”

 

Immediately, one waved frantically and dashed down to the stage area. He seemed a bit flushed. Was it from the running?

 

They all watched on as he went about in a flurry of movement. In the end, he flipped on the lights and they seemed to shine like brand new. There was one problem, though…

 

“How quick, Mender Bleu! And it works perfectly!” complimented the announcer. “On the other hand, this was very obviously a patch job!”

 

Bretta couldn’t help but agree. He had made a unprofessional-looking, slightly bent lamp that jutted out at odd angles. No matter how well it worked, there’s no way they’d display this willingly in a fancy capital city.

 

“O-oh dear, did the excitement get to him?” Myla half-whispered beside her.

 

It seemed that Bleu understood the situation. “Can I get another attempt?” he asked. Embarrassment was plain on his face.

 

“Mender Bleu, you know there’s only one attempt per contestant,” announcer bug chastised.

 

“I know, but…!” he replied, voice slightly tinged with desperation. He flicked his eyes to a certain spot in the audience, and announcer bug sighed quietly.

 

“Okay! A new shot! Same challenge, but this time for a lamp in Dirtmouth! Let’s see what you got!”

 

The same result happened again. His face got ruddier as he asked for another and failed again.

 

Bleu lifted his hammer, probably to request another attempt, but a larger figure buzzed down right in front of him.

 

“Bleu, you don’t have to do this. You obviously don’t want to and I don’t want you to to force yourself to!” Mender Berri said worriedly. 

 

“But-”

 

“But nothing. I know why you’re acting like this. You want to impress me, right?”

 

“Yes, so-”

 

“We should act together in these situations. I don’t care if you can do every part of the repair process perfectly. Why do you think we work in guilds and not alone?”

 

A period of uncomfortable silence followed. Mender Bleu frowned in mild shame. “I… it’s because I wanted to ask you something today if I succeeded.”

 

Berri, despite his current chastising demeanor, let a smile slip out. “And what would that be?”

 

“I… uh, _wouldyouliketobepartners?”_ came out the sentence in a single breath. “In more ways than one?

 

The audience, in spite of their previous annoyance, seemed to be holding they breath.

 

There was no need to worry, though. A big grin spread over Berri’s face as he grabbed Bleu’s hands gently. “You idiot, of course I would!”

 

Bleu and Berri grinned like idiots together as a roaring cheer filled the cavern.

 

It was at this moment that Bretta realized Myla was no longer at her side.

 

“Myla?” shouted Bretta confusedly. “Where are you?”

 

She scanned the area. It was too loud to get a good read, so she’d just have to look around. Poking around, she noticed a foreign tapping sort of sound nearby. Curious, she followed the noise to a covered little overhand below the seating area.

 

Squinting, she spotted a small, while figure curled up against the wall. “Etty? What are you doing here?”

 

He made a frantic shushing motion and gestured for her to come closer. She obliged.

 

As she drew nearer, she noticed a faint wrapping of what looked like silk wound around his horns, a bit like a spool. Three little bugs were happily clambering all over it.

 

Poor Etty looked a bit stressed but Bretta’s urge to question popped up. “What happened? What are those things?”

 

“...I”

 

“I?”

 

“Neither intended nor anticipated this outcome.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Unintentionally manhandled into the swarm.”

 

“And?”

 

“Accidentally snagged eggs onto horns. Hatched. One didn’t”

 

Shock spread across Bretta’s face. “Oh! Who are the parents? This is bad-”

 

“Bretta!” cried Myla. The shout jolted both of them into alertness.

 

“Bretta!” she repeated. “I got an apprenticeship with the menderbug guil-”

 

She stopped and took in the scene. “W-what… happened here?”

 

“I’d willingly assume that little Etiolate here carelessly hooked his horns on the eggs and took off without realizing they were there.”

 

He froze. Slowly, he turned to the voice’s owner. “I dearly apologise, one of the eggs-”

 

“That’s normal. The problem is that you did not tell me upon your realization of your cargo. Additionally, they appear to have become attached to the first living thing they saw.”

 

Etty stared warily. “To...?” 

 

“You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man I set up a lot in this chapter. not one of these characters are gonna be straight if I get my way. I've had the menderbash idea ever since chapter signpost
> 
> Feel the need to restate this since it's been a while - I love all the comments and kudos I get, thank you for almost 90 comments, 500+ kudos, and 7000+ views!


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